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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


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12.0 


1.8 


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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


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D 
D 
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v/ 


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n 


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1 
P 

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et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

k 


After  Weary  Years 


BY 


The  most  Rev.  coRNExms  O'Brien,  d.d., 


Archbishop  of  Halifaie,     ' 


BALTIMORE  ani?  KBW  YORK 

JOHN    MURPHY    &    CO 


1885 


BIBLIOTHECA 


; 


Copyright,  1885, 
By  JOHN  MURPHY  &  CO. 


PREFACE. 


There  is  but  little  of  fiction  in  the  following  pages. 
Il'storic  places  and  events  are  accurately  described, 
more  accurately  than  in  the  average  history.  Tlie 
writer  knows  whereof  he  speaks. 

The  Nemesis  spoken  of  in  these  pages  is  abroad, 
and  nations  must  suffer  if  justice  be  not  done. 

Our  Young  Dominion  has  made  rapid  strides  in 
national  greatness  since  the  last  chapter  of  tliis  work 
was  written, — six  years  ago.  If  we  be  true  to  our- 
selves Canada  will  be  the  great  nation  of  the  future. 
It  has  al)  the  natural  elements  of  imperial  greatness, 
and  its  sons  will  surel}'-  rise  to  tlie  heiglit  of  their 
destiny. 

The  indulgent  reader  will  kindly  overlook  imper- 
fections of  style  and  form  in  this  book.  Written 
piecemeal,  in  moments  of  freedom  from  other 
duties,  it  may  lack  coimection  of  parts  and  elegance 
of  expression  ;  but  a  hope  is  cherished  that  it  may 
amuse  and  instruct. 


a;; 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARR. 


CHAPTER  I. 


AMONG   THE   ORATES. 

It  is  tlio  classic  land  of  Italy,  the  home  of  poesy, 
the  seat  of  the  Arts,  the  haunt  of  the  Graces.  On 
such  a  day,  ages  ago,  wild  Bacchanalian  trooj»s 
would  have  been  feasting  on  the  sunny  hillsides. 
Bacchus,  the  jolly  god  of  the  vintage,  would  have 
liad  his  votaries  singing  on  every  knoll,  or  madly 
whirling  in  the  mazes  of  every  vineyard,  to  the 
music  of  the  thyrsns  or  of  clashing  cymbals.  The 
orgies  of  the  Bacchantes  were  too  enrly  in  the  history 
of  the  world  to  be  made  respectable.  It  was  re- 
served for  the  modern  ball-room,  with  -its  "  fast" 
dances,  to  throw  a  glamour  over  such  pastimes,  and 
make  them  fashionable.  ' 

The  noisy  and  shameless  revels  of  pagan  times  no 
longer  disturb  the  serenity  of  October's  genial  days. 
Some  may  regret  this ;  for  a  certain  class  "of  people 
seems  to  think  it  delightfully  expressive  of  wisdom 
to  disparage  Christianity,  and  to  extol  paganism. 
Let  the  pompous  dunces  pass :  we  have  not  to  do 


\ 


» 


3 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


with  poesy,  arts,  or  the  <yraces;  nor  with  orgies 
nor  with  scril)blcrs,  but  with  grnpes. 

On  the  slopinjij  hanks  of  Lake  Alhano,  on  a  warm 
October  afternoon  In  tlie  year  1800,  a  busy  scene 
presented  itself  to  any  one  who  might  chance  to 
wander  along  the  road  from  the  city  of  Albano  to 
the  shady  grove  of  ilexes  which  intervenes  between 
that  town  and  Marino.  Lake  AlJjano  is  in  the 
crater  of  an  extinct  volcano;  rugged  masses  of  tuffa 
rock,  grimy  sand,  and  streaks  of  lava  attest  that, 
centuries  ago,  volcanic  fire  spurted  up  from  the 
spot  where  the  peaceful  waters  of  the  lake  repose 
in  an  inviting  calm. 

The  city  of  Albano  is  on  the  southern  bank  of 
tlio  lake;  Monte  Cavo,  formerly  Mons  LaiiaUs^  is 
on  tlie  eastern.  This  mountain  rises  up  from  the 
Alban  liills  several  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of 
the  sea:  it  is  hollow,  l)eing  bul>ble- formed  by  the 
past  action  of  the  fire.  The  banks  of  the  lake  slope 
gently  downward  on  the  western  side  for  the  dis- 
tance of  half  a  mile.  Here  the  clustering  grapes 
grow  in  profusion,  twining  around  long  reeds  stuck 
in  the  ground  ;  here  the  peaches  and  figs  bloom  in 
their  richness ;  here  the  olives,  alternating  in  shade 
between  light  green  and  dark  gray,  come  early  to 
maturity. 

But  now  it  is  the  season  for  culling  the  grapes, 
and  the  vine-dressers  are  busy.  Troops  of  children, 
under  the  direction  of  their  parents,  cut  off  the 
bunches,  and  carefully  place  them  in  large  panniers. 
The  crossed  reeds  are  pulled  out  and  laid  in  con- 
venient heaps.     The  laborers  lighten  their  toil  witli 


AMONO  Till?  ORAPB8. 


by 


inerry  talk  in  their  sweet  Italian  tongue,  or  by  sing- 
ing, in  cliorus  the  "  Ave  Mari  Stella,''  or  some 
simple  lay  in  honor  of  the  Madonna. 

Long  files  of  donkeys  laden  with  panniers 
8traj)pcd,  one  on  eaeh  side,  to  their  rnde  saddles, 
slowly  wend  tlicir  way  up  the  bank  to  tlie  main 
road,  and  then  turn  to  Albano  or  Marino  with  their 
load  of  rich  graj)es. 

All  is  as  bright  and  cheerful  as  the  clear  sky. 
With  the  true  Italian  peasant  toil  and  mirth  go 
hand  in  hand.  There  is  about  him  sucli  an  innate 
refinement  of  nianncr,  such  a  modesty  of  deport- 
ment, and  still  such  a  joy  fulness  of  disposition,  as 
to  make  him  the  most  winniuij  of  men.  Free  alike 
from  the  coarse  brutality  of  the  English  lower  class, 
and  the  vul&ar  swai'ijer  and  cunning  of  the  trans- 
planted  Puritans  in  Atnerica,  lie  is  the  equal  in 
taste,  and  immensely  the  superior  in  sublimity  of 
thought,  of  the  higher  grades  of  English  society. 
lie-  is  a  jdiilosopher,  too,  in  his  view  of  life. 
Knowino:  it  to  be  flcetins:,  he  is  not  solicitous  of 
laying  up  a  store  of  wealth,  lie  takes  ns  much  licit 
and  rational  enjoyment  out  of  life  as  he  can.  With 
a  childlike  confidence  in  his  Creator,  he  does  not 
think  it  necessary  to  draw  down  his  face,  to  look 
continually  as  if  expecting  to  meet  an  enemy,  or  to 
steaf  through  life  on  tiptoe.  His  religion  ennobles 
all  his  thoughts  and  aspirations;  it  pervades  his 
every-day  actions,  and  casts  around  him  that  joyous 
disposition  which  travellers  note  and  admire. 

But  amongst  the  busy  crowd  who,  on  that  Oc- 
tober afteinoon,  culled  their  grapes  by  the  smiling 


14 


i. 


AFTER    WKAUY    YEARS. 


U 


lake,  only  two  need  attract  our  special  attention. 
They  are  an  old  man,  keen  of  eye  ^lionf^h  bent  with 
years,  and  a  strong  yonth  in  the  first  openino;  of 
manhood.  Hoth  are  hotter  dressed  than  are  the 
other  laborers.  It  would  seem  as  if  they  were 
amateur  gardeners  rather  than  regular  vine-dressers. 
And  such,  indeed,  they  were. 

The  old  man  has,  habitually,  a  reserved  or  em- 
barrassed look.  His  features  are  rei>:ular  and  well- 
cut ;  still,  a  cloud  has  settled  over  them  and  renders 
them  less  attractive.  Whenever  he  turns,  as  he 
frequently  docs,  his  eyes  towards  the  young  man,  a 
hungry,  almost  a  devouring,  expression  of  love  lights 
uj)  his  face,  and  causes,  for  a  moment,  a  rent  in  the 
cloud.  But  only  for  a  moment;  swiftly  the  rent 
closes,  and  a  weary  expi'ossion  oi  pain  or  remoi-sc 
succeeds. 

Tlie  youth  is  tall  and  well-proportioned;  his 
cheeks  are  darkened  more  bv  the  Italian  sun  than 
would  seem  natural.  His  broad,  open  brow  is  un- 
clouded ;  his  clear  hazel  eye  can  light  up  with  the 
fire  of  quick  intelligence;  his  thin,  firm-set  lips  be- 
si>eak  strength  of  purpose.  He  is  not  a  handsome 
wax  doll ;  he  is  a  manly  impersonation  of  qualities 
which,  if  rightly  directed,  will  make  him  a  hero; 
if  misdirected,  will  bear  him  rapidly  down  the  path 
of  vice,  a  leader  of  even  the  most  vicious. 

Heroes  are  not  beings  of  a  superior  mould,  ex- 
empt from  the  weaknesses  and  temptations  of  com- 
mon mortals.  Corrupt  nature  wages  a  fierce  war 
within  them,  but,  being  animated  and  guided  by 
some  lofty  principle  of  honor  or  religion,  they  sub- 


AMONG  THE  GRAPES. 


due  themselves  wliolly  or  in  part.  The  measure  of 
true  lieroisiii  is  the  amount  of  self-control  acquired 
by  an  individual  over  passions,  fears,  and  preju- 
dices, from  a  supernatural  motive.  Not  every  one 
who  l)Iind!y  rushes  against  the  gleaming  bayonets  of 
the  enemy,  not  every  one  who  plunges  lieedlessly 
into  the  Hood  to  assist  the  drowning,  should  be 
called  a  hero.  It  may  be  an  act  of  mere  animal 
courage  and  thoughtless  daring.  Very  of  to  the 
patient  wife  and  mother  who  day  by  dav,  with  a 
stout  heart  though  a  weak  arm,  toils  un  .own  and 
uncared  for,  to  support  her  sickly  husband  au'l  >'ttle 
children,  deserves  a  more  honorable  niche  i»i  the 
teni[/ie  of  fame  than  the  most  illustrious  wariior. 
Deeds  of  self-denial  daily  practised  for  tbe  love  of 
God,  resistance  to  evil  suggestions  and  temptations 
from  a  similar  motive,  are,  in  deed  and  truth,  acts  of 
heroism. 

Lorenzo  Aldini,  the  young  man  described  above, 
was  good  raw  material  for  a  future  hero.  Well 
trained  in  youth,  he  had  early  learned  tiiat  to  subdue 
liimself  must  be  the  lirst  step  in  a  great  career. 
Carefully  instructed  in  the  religion  of  his  fathers, 
he  had  ac(|uired  a  strong  love  of  justice  and  truth. 
Educated  by  those  much-abused  Jesuits  who,  Mac 
aulay  says,  were  "conspicuous  for  their  ability"  in 
educating  youth,  Lorenzo  had  been  })re])ared,  by  a 
sound  course  of  philosophy,  to  detect  and  confute 
the  shallow  sophisms  and  unblushing  lies  of  modern 
infidels.  The  grand  old  Church  that  civilized  the 
world,  fostered  the  arts  and  sciences,  and  produced 
great  men  in  every  age,  called  forth  his  deepest  rev 


) 


6 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


Ill 

h 


Hi! 


ereiice  and  love.  Fully  aware  of  the  advantages  of 
having  his  mind  illumed  by  true  laith,  he  had  a 
profound  pity  for  those  weak-minded  young  men 
wlio  were  led  astray  by  false  teaching. 

His  noble  nature  swelled  with  sympathetic  en- 
thusiasm when  he  reliected  on  the  lives  of  the  great 
heroes  of  the  Church,  lie  found  her  supreme  Pon- 
tills  ever  foremost  in  defending  the  weak  and  op- 
pressed;  ever  the  fearless  champions  of  true  human 
liberty ;  ever  the  munificent  ])atrons  of  arts  and 
sciences.  Knowing  all  this,  he  often  wondered  at 
the  stupid  ignorance  or  satanic  nudice  of  self-styled 
liistorians,  the  warp  and  woof  of  whose  ''  history  " 
were  spun  by  their  diseased  imaginations.  He  was 
too  young  and  generous  to  sus[)ect  that  men  could 
deliberately  calumniate  the  S})Ouse  of  Christ;  and 
yet  he  found  them,  even  now,  with  the  meridian  light 
of  history  in  full  Idaze,  accusing  the  lloman  Pontills 
of  seltishness,  tyra'iny,  and  a  fostering  of  ignorance. 
Lorenzo  loved  liberty,  and  this  love  was  another 
link  which  bound  him  to  the  Church.  He  was  well 
aware  that  truth  will  make  man  free,  and  he  saw 
from  history  that  real  individual  liberty  is  only 
guaranteed  by  the  princii)les  of  the  Catholic  Church. 

Lorenzo  had  lost,  long  ago,  his  mother :  he  had  a 
dim  remembrance  of  having  been  fondled  on  her 
knees,  and  of  i)laying  in  her  presence  with  two  little 
children.  But  these  had  faded  out  from  his  path  ; 
when,  or  where,  he  could  never  quite  decide.  Out 
from  the  dimness  of  the  past  some  scenes  of  his 
childish  days  would  frequently  emerge.  At  such 
times  he  would  be  immersed  in  profound  thought; 


AMONG    TIIK   (iliAPKS. 


lii,^ht 


urcli. 
had  11 
n  her 
little 
path  ; 

Out 
)i  his 

such 
.ught; 


his  eyes  would  he  strained  as  if  peering  intently  at 
some  distant  object,  and  his  whole  form  would  he 
bent  forward  in  the  attitude  of  an  attentive  listener. 
The  old  man,  who  had  learned  to  know  what  was 
passing  in  Lorenzo's  mind,  wuuld  at  such  moments 
turn  for  an  instant  a  half  sorrowful  look  on  him, 
and  then  make  a  motion  as  if  about  to  speak  ;  check- 
ing theimpidse,  however,  he  would  remove  his  gaze, 
and  sometimes  silently  weep. 

The  two  ijardeners  worked  on  without  exchanj^ing 
uiany  words.  Lorenzo  was  nipping  olf  the  rich 
clusters  of  grapes  and  placing  them,  between  hiyers 
of  olive  leaves,  in  a  wicker  basket.  The  old  man 
was  cuiployed  in  cutting  the  vino  trails,  and  in  col- 
lecting in  compact  heaj)S  the  long  reeds  on  which 
they  had  been  supported.  Fi'om  time  to  time  a 
dark-visaged,  beai'ded  servant-UKin,  in  a  curious  out- 
tit,  came  to  carrv  awav  the  tilled  baskets.  His  head- 
gear  consisted  of  a  gaily  striped  worsted  night-cap, 
with  an  eagle's  plume  foi*  a  tassel  ;  he  wore  no  coat, 
but  over  his  blue  guernsey  shirt  he  s[)orte(l  a  green 
cloth  waistcoat  with  red  Ihumel  lappeis.  Knee-shorts 
of  tlrab  velvet,  with  stout  leather  buskins  buckled 
under  his  strong  shoes,  com[)leted  his  })ictures([ue 
attire.  He  was  a  hardy-looking  mountaineer,  pleas- 
ant-looking when  sj)eaking,  but,  for  aught  that  his 
countenance  expressed  when  at  work,  you  might  rate 
him  as  a  l)rigand  or  an  industrious  vine-dresser. 

Peppe,  for  such  he  was  called,  was  on  intimate 
terms  with  his  young  master  Lorenzo,  lie  had 
watched  overliim  in  his  school-days;  he  had  visited 
him  when  at  college ;  and  ;iow  Lorenzo  never  made 


i 


8 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


ii 


I 


an  excursioM  over  the  Alban  hills,  or  around  Lake 
Neini,  without  being  accompanied  by  Peppe.  On 
these  occasions  the  latter  always  carried,  in  addition 
to  the  liask  of  Orvieto  wine  with  ham  and  buns  for 
a  frugal  lunch,  a  rusty  double-barrelled  flint  gun. 
This  wjirlike  implement  was  as  old  as  Peppe's  great- 
grandfather, and  had  never  been  known,  though  per- 
suasion and  ingenuity  had  both  been  tried,  to  strike 
lire ;  and  \v  ell  for  some  that  it  had  not ;  there  are 
sensations  more  pleasing  than  those  excited  by  a 
blow  from  the  fragment  of  a  rusty  gun.  Still  Peppe 
had  faith  in  his  weapon ;  numberless  times  he  had 
snai)ped  it  inelfectually  at  quails  and  grouse,  yet  he 
clung  to  the  pleasant  fiction  that  it  was  a  good  j)ro- 
tection  for  his  young  master. 

When  Peppe  had  borne  off  the  last  basket  of 
grapes,  the  old  man,  who  was  known  as  Giovanni 
Aldini,  gazing  out  towards  the  Mediterranean, 
where  the  sun  was  just  sinking  in  glowing  splen- 
dor, said  : 

"  See,  my  son,  it  is  time  to  cease  from  our  work ; 
the  malaria  will  soon  begin  to  rise  from  the  Cam- 
piigna  ;  let  us  go  home." 

Jjorenzo  turned  his  eyes  towards  the  setting  sun  ; 
there  was  somethiuii^  iu  the  mairnificent  siiirht  which 
absorbed  his  attention.  The  sun  was  not  sinking 
to  rest  as  it  does  in  midsummer,  like  a  beauteous 
(jueen  serenely  dying  in  a  palace  hallowed  by  her 
sanctity ;  it  was  rather  like  a  fierce  Amazon  spurt- 
lUiX  out  her  life  with  her  blood  on  a  battle-torn 
plain.  Jagged  masses  of  clouds  just  above  the 
sinking  sun  swani  in  a  red  light,  which  was  fiercely 


AMONG  THE   GRAPES. 


9 


gun. 


anni 

mean, 

jlon- 


snn  ; 

hich 

iking 

;cous 

her 
purt- 
-torn 

the 
rcely 


intense.  Streaks  of  glowing  briglitness  shot  up 
the  horizon,  growing  narrower  and  fainter,  not 
unlike,  so  Lorenzo  thought,  to  trickling  pools  of 
blood.  For  a  moment  he  was  silent  and  motion- 
less, then  half  aloud : 

"  It  is  a  beautiful,  but  perhaps  a  significant  sun- 
set." 

"Significant  of  what,  Lorenzo?" 

"  (Jf  the  battles,  father,  which  soon  may  be 
foui::ht  around  Rome." 

They  reached  the  high  road  which  runs  from 
Albano  to  Marino,  and  faced  towards  the  latter 
village.  At  the  edge  of  the  grove  of  ilixes  before- 
mentioned,  and  in  view  of  the  lake,  stands  a  little 
roadside  oratory.  It  is  a  small  tem[)le  of  stone  and 
mortar,  perhaps  eight  feet  in  diameter.  The  upper 
half  of  the  door  is  not  solid,  but  is  formed  of 
wooden  bars  a  few  inches  apart,  between  these 
bars  you  can  see  the  interior  of  tlie  oratory.  It  is 
rudely  frescoed ;  a  small  stone  altar,  with  flowers 
and  candlesticks,  is  opposite,  and  on  it  a  statue,  in 
chalk,  of  the  Ijlessed  Virgin,  hung  round  with 
votive  olferings  of  hearts,  medals,  ear-rings,  and 
pistols.  Each  of  these  olferinga  was  a  testimony  of 
all'ection  and  faith.  Some  one  in  alHiction,  passing 
by  this  oratory,  had  ^rnelt  and  asked  the  Blessed 
Virgin  to  pi'ay  to  God  to  grant  him  such  a  favor. 
The  petition  was  heard,  and  in  gratitude  and  ])roof 
thereof  a  silver  heart,  or  perha})s  a  ring,  had  been 
hung  up.  The  student  had  given  his  hard-earned 
medal;  the  man  of  violence,  moved  by  a  good 
inspiration  when  passing  the  shrine,  had  laid  aside 
1* 


V 


10 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


his  hate  and  thrown  down  his  mnrderoiis  weapon. 
Like  milestones  on  a  weary  journey,  which  serve  as 
places  of  rest  to  the  footsore  traveller,  the  wayside 
oratories  afford  the  tired  Christian  soul  a  spot  of 
quiet  and  rest. 

Lorenzo  and  his  father  knelt  for  a  moment  in 
silent  prayer  in  front  of  the  oratory ;  rising,  they 
proceeded  slowly  down  the  shady  road  which  winds 
gracefully  round  the  ilex-  and  elm-crowned  hills 
which  intervene  hetween  Lake  Albano  and  Marino. 
At  length  the  old  man  broke  the  silence  by  saying : 

"What  battles,  my  son,  may  soon  be  fought 
around  Home?  Do  you  apprehend  an  invasion  of 
Italy  ?  It  is  true  that  Austria  has  oeen  sadly  de- 
feated at  Sadowa ;  Prussia  and  Piedmont  nave  both 
extended  their  boundaries ;  but  think  you  that 
either  of  them  will  lay  siege  to  Konvo  ?" 

"  You  know,  father,  that,  according  to  the  con- 
vention entered  into  between  France  and  Piedmont 
in  1861:,  the  French  soldiers  who  have  been  sta- 
tioned in  the  Pontifical  States  ever  since  tlie  sup- 
pression of  the  unholy  revolution  of  1849,  were  to 
evacuate  Ivonie  within  two  years.  That  time  has 
ehi])sed ;  they  are  still  there,  but  it  is  generally 
believed  that  ere  Christmas  the  French  Hag  will  no 
longer  wave  over  Castel  San  Angelo,  and  the  Holy 
Father  will  be  abandoned  to  his  own  resources." 

"Well,"  said  the  old  num  anxiously,  "that  is  true 
enough  ;  still,  I  see  no  cause  for  alarm.  We  are  at 
peace  with  all." 

"  Not  from  without,  father ;  but  the  secret  socie- 
ties arc  preparing  to  create  a  disturbance  in  the 


M 


I 


AMONG   THE   GRAPES. 


11 


>} 


SOCIC- 

11  the 


Pope's  territory.  Impious  hordes  will  attempt,  ere 
long,  to  assail  the  capital  of  Christendom.  Perhaps 
even  the  saintly  Pius  IX.  may  be  exposed  to  per- 
sonal insult.  Catholics  throughout  the  world  are 
awakening  to  a  sense  of  this  danger;  volunteers  are 
daily  arriviuii;  to  enroll  themselves  under  the  banner 
of  St.  Peter;  the  glorious  days  of  the  (yrnsades, 
when  faith  and  civilization  liurled  themselves  on 
the  barbarian  Moslem,  may  soon  be  renewed.  My 
blood,  father,  boils  at  tlie  thought.  I  must  join  the 
Papal  Zouaves." 

The  face  of  Lorenzo,  whilst  i^ivini^  utterance  to 

'  Cj  CD 

these  words  with  energy,  was  lit  up  with  a  glow  of 
entliusiasm  which  revealed  a  latent  chivalric  spirit. 
He  was  no  longer  a  cpiiet,  thoughtful,  young  vine- 
dresser; he  was  a  brave  knight  in  undi-ess.  In- 
stinctively he  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height; 
his  right  hand  convulsively  closed  as  if  alrea<ly 
grasping  a  sword. 

The  old  man  was  astonished;  never  before  had 
he  suspected  this  martial  ardor,  lie  wore  a  trou- 
bled expression  as  he  slowly  said  : 

"Put,  my  son,  all  this  is  but  apprehension  on 
your  part ;  the  Pope  is  not  in  danger.  Put  aside 
this  idea,  which  can  only  tend  to  disturb  your 
mind." 

"No,  father;  in  tliis  I  am  resolved.  Often,  of 
late,  have  I  thought  on  the  troubled  state  of 
Europe.  One  vast  network  of  secret  societies  is 
spread  over  its  surface;  war  to  the  death  against  the 
(Catholic  Church  is  their  ruling  ])rinciple.  They 
foment  discontent  among  the  masses ;  they  ensnare 


r 


i 


12 


AFTER    WEARY    YEARS. 


!!pi 


'I 


the  young  and  unsuspecting  witli  fine  talk  about 
liberty  and  patriotism ;  they  excite  hatred  of  reli- 
gion and  the  clergy.  While  all  this  is  being  done 
by  the  impious,  shall  we  stand  idly  by  until  the 
long-prepared  eruption  bursts  upon  us  ?  No :  we, 
too,  must  prepare  to  battle  for  justice  and  religion.'* 

"  But  consider,  Lorenzo,  that  the  Catholic  tradi- 
tions and  feelings  of  Europe  will  never  permit  an 
assault  against  Rome.  Why,  no  nation  could  ap- 
prove or  support  so  gross  an  outrage  against  Cath- 
olic sentiment." 

"  Ah !"  said  Lorenzo  gloomily,  "  it  is  this  delu- 
sion which  has  caused  all  the  trouble  to  relig'on  in 
Catholic  countries.  People  live  in  an  unntiled 
apathy,  trusting  to  the  traditions  and  the  policy  of 
the  past.  They  imagine  that,  because  the  vast 
majority  is  Catholic,  no  anti-Catholic  law  will  be 
passed  by  government.  In  the  mean  time  the  secret 
plotters,  profiting  by  this  apathy,  rise  to  place  and 
power,  get  possession  of  the  army  and  trcasur}'-, 
and  then  impose  their  unchristian  laws  on  the 
])eople.  If  we  want  to  preserve  our  liberties  wo 
must  ever  be  on  our  guard ;  there  are  always  em- 
bryo tyrants  who  only  wait  for  an  opportunity  to 
develop.  We  must  be  prepared  to  tight,  too,  if 
occasion  requires." 

"  But  was  not  peace  announced,  Lorenzo,  at  th( 
Saviour's    birth?      Are   we   not   taught   to   suffer 
patiently  ?" 

"Peace  was  announced  to  men  of  good  will," 
replied  Lorenzo,  "  and  patience,  too,  was  inculcated ; 
but  we  were  not  taught  to  allow  ourselves  to  bo 


AMONG  THE   GRAPES. 


13 


if 

it  the 
niflfer 

all," 
ited; 

to  bo 


enslaved.  I  seriously  believe  that  if  we  heard  less 
about  enduring  meekly  insults  offered  to  our  reli- 
gion, and  more  advice  to  stand  up  for  our  rights  in 
a  legitimate  and  manly  way,  we  would  suffer  but 
little  persecution.  Think  you,  father,  that  if  the 
handful  of  revolutionists,  or  the  beardless  youths 
from  government  universities,  who  often  insult  and 
interrupt  our  processions  in  many  parts  of  Europe, 
knew  that  we  had  been  advised  and  were  ready  to  de- 
fend ourselves,  they  would  dare  even  hiss?  But  be- 
cause they  are  certain  that  we  have  been  admonished 
to  bear  tamely  every  insult,  they  grow  courageous. 
And  if  governments  felt  that  their  Catholic^ubjects 
would  resist,  to  the  death,  unjust  laws,  they  would 
be  more  chary  of  enacting  them.  If  Home  is  to  be 
saved  from  serious  trouble,  it  must  be  girt  round 
with  a  band  of  soldiers  whose  hearts  are  true  to 
Holy  Church,  and  whose  lives  are  at  its  service." 

The  old  man  was  sadly  troubled ;  he  felt  the 
truth  and  force  of  Lorenzo's  words,  but  his  love  for 
him  was  something  intensely  tierce,  lie  tried  to 
culm  the  fears  of  his  son,  to  point  out  the  many 
reasons  for  hoping  for  a  peaceful  time,  and  to  i)ut 
forward  his  claims  to  be  supported  and  cheered  in 
his  old  age.  This  last,  however,  he  did  with  evident 
hesitation,  and,  one  would  fancy,  in  self-reproachful 
tones.     It  was  all  of  no  avail. 

Lorenzo  thanked  him  with  tears  of  gratitude  for 
his  loving  care,  but  gently  reminded  him  that  our 
first  duty  was  towards  God. 

"Remember,  father,  you  are  in  no  need  of  my 
help;   you  are  still  vigorous,  though   advanced  in 


m 


■m 


14 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


I  ' 


iiii 


Stfll; 


iiii 


years ;  you  arc  in  no  danger.  From  time  to  time  I 
shall  see  you,  and  perhaps  a  happier  state  of  affairs 
may  enable  me,  ere  long,  to  return.  On  the  other 
hand,  think  of  our  venerable  Father  Pius  IX. ; 
already  he  has  drunk  the  chalice  of  bitterness  in 
exile;  already  he  is  beset  by  numerous  dangers, 
In  lighting  for  him  1  light  for  justice  and  truth, 
and  if  my  life's  blood  should  be  .shed  in  defence  of 
Kome,  I  would  fall  a  Christian  hero,  and  merit  a 
martyr's  palm." 

They  had  now  arrived  at  the  streaui  near  which 
the  ancient  Romans  formed  the  treaty  with  the 
Latins.*  It  was  growing  dark,  and  they  hastened 
forward. 

Theif  house  stood  ojit  a  short  distance  from 
Marino,  on  the  slope  towards  liome.  From  its  west- 
ern windows  you  could  look  over  the  undulating 
Cam|)agna,  and  see  far  oil  the  s[)ires  and  turrets  of 
the  Eternal  C^ity. 

Nothinu:  more  was  said  that  niu^ht  about  Lorenzo's 
I'csolution  of  joining  the  Zouaves.  Perhaps  Gio- 
vanni Aldini  thought  tliat  his  son's  resolve  nnght 
melt  with  the  dissolving  mists  of  the  morrow;  per- 
haps Lorenzo's  soul  was  too  full  of  his  noble  purpose 
to  think  of  speech. 

Men  do  not  speak  most  often,  nor  most  loudly,  of 
their  noblest  determinations.  There  are  times  when 
the  intelligence  of  man  is  so  penetrated  with  some 
purpose,  so  wrapped  up  in  devising  means  to  real- 
ize some  grand  idea,  that  he  appears  to  himself  to  bo 
enffaij:ed  in  an  animated  discourse.  This  was  Lor- 
enzo's  state  ou  that  evening. 


Loi> 


m 


f 


1 

if 

i 

rom 

■1 

vest- 

1 

.ting 

1»: 

s  of 

1 

'■'i 

izo's 

VM 

Gio- 

liglit 

1 

per- 

f 

^ 

pose 

'^-'.^ 

AMONG   THK  GRAPES. 


15 


After  tlie  usual  family  prayers,  in  which  Peppe 
and  the  other  domestics  joined,  Lorenzo,  according 
to  the  beautiful  custom  still  observed  in  good  fam- 
ilies in  Italy,  kissed  his  father's  hand,  and  received 
his  blessing  when  retiring  for  the  night. 

Lorenzo  occupied  a  room  on  the  third  lloor,  on 
the  western  side  of  the  house.  He  sat  by  the  open 
window  to  enjoy  the  calm  tranquillity  that  reigned 
without.  It  was  a  beautiful  moonlight  night. 
Nowhere  else,  perhai)6,  and  at  no  other  time,  could 
such  a  lovely  scene  be* presented  as  on  the  Alban 
hills  on  a  still  October  night.  The  air  was  balmy 
though  not  warm ;  it  retained  a  yet  pei'fceptible 
trace  of  the  sunbeams'  genial  influence,  as  grateful 
to  the  sense  as  the  faint  odor  of  flowers  wafted  far 
out  on  the  water.  The  full  moon  seemed  to  swim, 
almost  to  oscillate,  in  the  deep  azure;  it  showed 
brighter  and  lai'ger  than  it  ever  does  in  cold  or  damp 
climates. 

Jioneath  the  window  the  land  sloped  rapidly  away, 
and  was  covered  with  graceful  olive-trees.  Those 
far  down  were  yet  in  the  shade,  and  appeared  but 
as  reiltM'tions  of  these  on  the  brow  of  the  hill,  whose 
grayish  foliage  was  kissed  by  the  moonbeams. 

Here  and  there  long  streaks  of  moonlight  shot 
out  over  the  Campagiui,  as  the  moon  gradually  rose 
over  the  range  of  hills.  Here  this  straggling  ray 
lit  up  some  sombre  haystack,  beautifying  it  even  as, 
so  Lorenzo  thought,  the  grace  of  God  does  a  repent- 
ant soul ;  there  a  beam,  escaping  as  if  in  sj)ort  from 
its  fellows,  sped  swiftly  over  the  plain,  revealing 
in  its  glorious  path  a  hill,  a  ruined  villa,  or  a  broken 


f 


! 


l![^ 


16 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


li  . 


.'iqucduct.  By  degrees  a  flood  of  mellowed  liglit 
l)iir8t  over  the  whole  scene,  and  swept  quickly  west- 
ward to  the  lofty  walls  of  Rome. 

The  winding  Tiber,  rolling  its  yellow  waters  to 
the  Mediterranean,  glinted  here  and  there  in  the 
softened  rays. 

The  song  of  the  nicrhtingale  struck  on  the  listen- 
ing  ear,  and  made  complete  musical  bars  between 
the  hayings  of  distant  watch-dogs. 

Lorenzo  felt  how  true  it  is  that  the  "  heavens  nar- 
rate the  glory  of  God,  and  the  firmament  announc- 
eth  the  work  of  his  hands."  lieauty,  harmony,  and 
grandeur  were  all  comprised  in  the  scene. 

For  ages  that  same  moon  had  risen  in  her  re- 
flected glory  over  the  same  ground  ;  but  how  shift- 
ing had  been  the  visions  she  had  lighted  up!  Lo- 
renzo tried  to  summon  back  the  panoramic  scene  of 
past  ages.  There  is  a  tradition  that  Noah  came  to 
Italv,  and  died  on  the  Janiculum  hill  in  Home. 
Over  him,  then,  and  his  fast-spreading  descendants 
the  moonbeams  onee  shone  in  this  })laco.  Greek 
and  Trojan  colonies ;  Latins,  Etruscans,  Goths, 
Vandals,  and  Lombards  quickly  ])assed  before  the 
magic  glass.  They  fought,  strove  for  a  time,  and 
then  died ;  their  works  perished  wholly  or  in  pai't, 
but  still  the  moonbeams'  checkered  light  danced 
gaily  over  the  scene. 

One  only  institution  remained  unchanged  amidst 
the  wreck  of  successive  generations ;  one  only  insti- 
tution seemed  to  defy  the  tooth  of  time,  and  to  rival 
in  the  diffusion  of  unquenchable  light  the  moon 
herself ;  it  was  the  Catholic  Church. 


•t 


I 


1 


AMONO   THE  GRAPES. 


17 


''  How  often,"  thought  Lorenzo,  "  has  slio  been 
assailed;  liovv  often  ])erseciite(l ;  but  see!  slie  ever 
conies  forth  trimnpliant.  So,  too,  the  one  wlio, 
veai's  hence,  sliall  .stand  liere  and  view  the  panorama 
of  history  l)y  tliese  clear  ravs,  ^vill  note  liow  our 
Holy  Ciiureh  came  victoriously  fortr,  from  her  pres- 
ent encounter  with  infidelity  and  pride.  Strengthen, 
()  God!  Htrengthen  this  arm  of  mine  to  strike  for 
the  rights  of  Jloly  Church.'' 

Fillt'd  with  such  thoughts  he  retired  to  bed. 

Early  next  morning  he  was  astir,  and  busy  pack- 
ing his  truid\S.  lie  had  sunnnoned  I*e|)pe  to  his 
assistance,  and  had  disclosed  to  that  faithful  attend- 
ant his  resolve  of  starting  for  Rome  that  very  day. 
l*oor  Peppe  was  at  iirst  (piite  downcast,  but  when 
told  that  he  was  to  escort  his  young  master  on  the 
journey  became  bright  and  smiling. 

A  cup  of  coffee  and  a  morsel  of  bread  is  the  usual 
Italian  breakfast.  This  light  meal  was  soon  de- 
spatched,  and  then  Lorenzo  sought  his  father's  room. 
The  old  man,  seeing  his  son's  resolution,  gave  at 
Icuijcth  a  reluctant  consent.  On  his  knees  Lorenzo 
asked  pardon  for  every  fault  he  had  committed, 
and  thanked  his  father  for  all  his  care.  This  troub- 
led the  old  man  more  than  anything  else. 

"It  is  I,  Lorenzo,"  he  said,  ''who  ought  to  ask 
your  forgiveness.  In  the  excess  of  my  love  for  you 
I  have  been  cruel  towards  vou :  if  ever  you  learn 
how,  I  shall  then  be  dead,  try  to  think  kindly  of  me. 
Alas!  we  little  rellect,  when  satisfying  our  own  feel- 
ings, how  cruelly  we  may  be  lacerating  those  of 
others.     We  often  forget  that  the  affections  of  our 


I 


'Wm 


18 


AFTEK   WEABY    YEARS. 


fellow- mortals  may  be  as  strong,  or  stronger,  than 
our  own." 

These  words,  uttered  in  a  broken  and  self-reproach- 
ful tone,  UKule  a  deep  impression  on  Lorenzo.  He 
couM  not  understand  their  full  meaning;  but  seeing 
his  father  in  distress  he  kissed  his  hand,  and,  holding 
it  to  his  heart,  vowed  ever  to  love  and  cherish  his 
memory. 

''  i  have  never  received  aught  but  kindness,  father, 
from  this  hand  which  I  now  hold;  and  I  would 
rather  that  mine  own  might  witiier  than  that  I 
should  format  it." 

Ihit  the  old  man  only  groaned:  "Ah!  Lorenzo, 
ah!   Lorenzo,  may  Heaven  pardon  me  at  last." 

At  length  (iiovanni  Aldini  jnade  an  elfort  to 
compose  his  feelings.  He  gave  Lorenzo  some 
money,  and  an  order  on  the  i>ank  of  Kome  for  a 
generous  allowance.  IJe  then  took  from  a  double- 
locked  drawer  a  small  package;  handing  it  to  his 
son  he  said,  "In  your  pocket  when  first" — but  here 
a  Hood  of  tears  stopped  his  utterance. 

It  is  hard  to  see  an  old  man  weep.  The  tears  of 
the  young  are  like  sun-showers  on  budding  roses; 
but  those  of  the  old  are  autumn  squalls  pattering 
drearily  on  a  ruined  roof. 

Lorenzo,  himself  weeping,  took  the  packet.  The 
old  n»an,  hastily  brushing  away  his  tears,  said: 

"The  time  may  come  when  you  will  think  of 
marrying.  If  ever  you  meet  in  Italy  or  elsewhere 
the  original  of  the  photograph  in  tliat  package,  try 
to  win  her  for  your  wife.     My  blessing  ou  such  a 


'J 


'$ 


i 


union 


5) 


AMONG   THE   GRAPKS. 


19 


Fondly  ijc  clasped  Lorenzo  to  his  hrcast  for  tho 
last  time;  fondly  Lorenzo  clnii<^  to  him  at  parting- 
All  tiie  little  faults  of  his  young  days  came  up 
before  him.  It  is  only  when  we  heliold  the  tearful 
eye  of  an  aged  father,  see  his  cpiiveiijig  lip,  and 
feel  the  nervous  pressure  of  his  last  hand-elasj),  that 
we  can  fully  know  how  deep  and  fond  has  been  his 
love,  and  how  ungrateful  we  too  often  have  been. 
ILippy  those  sons  whose  conscience  does  not  re- 
proach them  r    'li  at  such  a  moment! 

Lorenzo  left  the  house  accompanied  by  Pe})pe, 
who  ha<l  strapped  the  luggage  across  the  backs  of 
two  mules;  these  lie  managed,  l)y  some  process 
known  only  to  himself,  to  drive  by  dextrously  prod- 
ding with  his  old  gun,  which  of  course  he  carried. 

Arrived  at  the  railway  station  at  Frascati,  the 
mules  were  unpacked  and  allowed  to  lind  their  way 
home,  while  Lorenzo  and  Peppe  took  the  train  for 
Itome.  It  was  only  when  seated  some  minutes  that 
Lorenzo  opened  the  packet  given  him  by  his  fathei", 
and  saw  the  likeness  of  a  fair  young  child  of  three 
or  four  years.  The  sunny  look  of  childhood's  inno- 
cence shed  a  halo  around  her  features,  but  Lorenzo 
could  trace  therein  no  resemblance  to  any  one  he 
had  ever  seen. 

Long  and  thoughtfully  he  gazed  on  the  young 
face,  until  aroused  by  the  shrill  continued  whistle 
which  announced  a  near  approach  to  Rome. 


f 


m 


20 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


(JIIAPTP]R    11. 


til 


ON    THE    IJANKS    OF    THE    ST.    LAWRENCE. 

Ideas  are  not  bounded  by  sj)acc,  nor  limited  by 
time.  We  of  to-day  may  liave  ideas  not  unlike  those 
of  our  antediluvian  ancestors;  and  persons  thou- 
sands of  miles  apart  may  make  identical  reflections. 
It  is  not  by  any  means  strani^-e  that  the  words  spoken 
near  Lake  Albano  should  re-echo  from  the  banks  of 
the  noble  St.  Lawrence;  or  that  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings whicli  moved  Lorenzo  Aldini  to  lofty  entliusi- 
asm  should  kindle  a  kindred  blaze  in  the  breast  of 
JNlorgan  Leahy. 

They  had  nnich  in  common :  ])oth  were  young 
and  of  a  generous  disposition ;  both  had  been 
trained,  though  widely  apart,  in  similar  schools  of 
thought;  and  both  had  the  same  priceless  gift  of  a 
true  and  living  Faith.  This  last"  link  bound  them 
both  with  lilial  love  to  the  grand  centre  of  Chris- 
tianity, Rome. 

What  wonder,  then,  that  in  the  October  of  186(5 
Morgan  Leahy  should  think  and  s[)eak  very  much 
after  the  numner  of  I^orenzo  Aldini?  How  often 
do  we  not,  unconsciously,  repeat  the  sentiments  of 
others?  How  many  at  the  present  moment  may 
not  be  engaged  in  identical  s])eculations?  The 
orbit  in  which  human  intellects  revolve  is  neces- 
sarily limited ;  hence  they  ofteu  crosfc.  each  other's 


ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE.  21  . 


litcd  by 
ko  those 
IS  thoii- 
Icctioiis. 
>  spoken 
Kinks  of 
nd  feel- 
entliiisi- 
reast  of 

young 

been 

ools  of 

ift  of  11 

I  tlieni 

Chris- 

f  1S6G 
niueli 
often 
Ints  of 
It  niiiy 
The 
ineees- 
kher's 


track.  A  triflino;  occurence  often  brands  for  all 
time  some  sentiment  or  expression  as  ridiculous, 
which,  ^"  der  altered  circumstances,  would  be 
stamped  as  sublime.  Tlicre  is  a  vast  amount  of 
true  sublimity  in  many  a  slii^hted  ballad,  and  a  very 
larc;e  quota  of  nonsense  in  many  a  lauded  epic. 

Who  can  assign  the  cause  of  this?  Who  will 
liave  the  moral  courage  to  attack  the  literary  pet  of 
each  nation,  and  lay  bare  his  weaknesses? 

On  the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  near  the  spot 
where  the  gloomy  St.  Maurice  empties  its  sullen 
waters  into  the  laughing  tide  of  the  great  river,  on 
a  line  evening  in  October  l.Sr»r»,  Morgan  Leahy  and 
his  sister  Eleanor  were  walking  side  by  side.  Gradu- 
ally they  ascended  from  the  edge  of  the  water  to  the 
summit  of  a  lofty  hill,  and  then  sat  down  to  enjoy 
the  glorious  prospect. 

Truly  it  was  a  scene  to  delight  tlic  eye  of  any 
rational  being.  Here  at  your  feet  the  majestic  river 
rolled  grandly  on,  with  a  fuller  swell  as  the  St. 
Maurice  poured  in  its  tributary  ollering.  Now  it 
chafed  and  roared  as  it  was  forced  to  flow  between 
two  jutting  rocks  which,  like  a  pair  of  chaine<l 
giants  who  had  run  to  meet  in  mortal  coml)at,  In.' 
checked  ere  they  met,  stood  frowning  fiercely  on 
each  other.  Now  it  spread  out  into  a  broad  lake, 
and  fpiickly  forgot  its  ill-tempei  as  it  peacefully 
s!niled  and  gently  laved  the  shores  of  many  a  quiet 
bay  where  the  storm-king  never  comes. 

On  it  proudly  rolled,  gathering  volume  as  it 
went,  bearing  on  its  bosom  the  plashing  steamer, 
the  rakish   brig,  the   tall   square-ngged   bark,  the 


I 
I 

) 


I  • 


pi 


22 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


beautifully  modelled  iricrdiant-ship,  the  unattractive 
tuf^-hoat,  the  clumsy  punt,  and  dark,  dismal-looking 
coal-traders  which  slunk  quickly  by,  as  if  they  were 
the  ghosts  of  Captain  Kidd's  pirate  shij)s.  It  bore 
them  all  alike,  tovini;  with  each  and  tossing  each 
with  perfect  impartiality. 

Man  may,  to  a  certain  extent,  utilize  the  elements, 
but  he  can  never  control  them.  Down  the  rushing 
river  the  connnerce  of  our  great,  though  young. 
Dominion  Hows  to  reach  the  far-off  Atlantic,  thence 
to  be  borne  east  and  west,  north  and  south,  pro- 
claimins:  our  resources  and  our  skill. 

But  at  times  the  irreat  stream  rebels  and  raijes 
with  such  fury  that  the  stoutest  stand  appalled  and 
Khrink  back  from  its  foam-cov(;red  face.  It  was 
calm,  however,  and  docile  as  Morgan  and  Eleanor 
gazed  adown  its  course. 

Gentle  slojx^s  of  well-tilled  country  were  inter- 
sperse<l  with  rough,  bald  hills  which  I'ose  shar|)ly 
out  from  tlu;  river.  Far  a,way  on  every  side  could 
be  discerned  little  villajxes  dottinij  \vith  the  mark  of 
man  each  hillside.  The  small  spires  of  many  a 
country  church  rose  gently  heavenward,  bearing 
aloft  the  glory  of  Calvary,  and  silently  preaching 
hope  and  penance  from  their  gilded  crosses.  In  the 
backc^round  of  the  ijreen  iields  waved  the  virjjrin 
forest.     The  liirht  autumn  frost  had   chauijed   the 


» 


hue  of  the  leaves  from  green  to  the  most  gorgeous 
colorings.     The  white  birch  had  leaves  of   bright 

scarlet,  ai 


iple,  pur[)le. 


Ty. 


the  beecli,  a  deep  grayish  white;   while  the   pin(^ 
and  fir  retained  their  emerald  hues. 


% 

ii 


I 


ittractive 
,1-lookinpr 

hev  were 

It  ])ore 

inof  eacli 


elements, 
3  rusliing: 

I  yoniig, 
c,  tlience 

II  til,  pro- 

n<]  rages 

illed  and 

It  was 

Eleanor 

re  inter- 
sliarplv 
e  could 
nark  of 
many  a 
hearing 
ad  ling 
In  the 


!•( 


c  Virgin 
ged  the 
rorgeoiis 
hright 
an  red  ; 
le   ])ine 


ON  THE  BANKS  OF  THE  ST.  LAWRENCE.  23 

Fancy  tliese  and  many  otlier  kinds  of  trees  grow- 
in  f  side  hy  side,  every  leaf  of  each  being  of  a  dif- 
ferent shade,  and  all  rich  in  coloring  and  glinting 
in  the  rays  of  a  setting  sun,  and  you  liave  an  autumn 
scene  1)V  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  one  of  untold  love- 
liness. 

Moriran  Lealiy  was  a  young  man  of  six  and 
twenty,  his  sister  two  years  his  iunior.  Their 
parents  were  natives  of  the  Emerald  Isle;  but  Mor- 
iran and  Eleanor  had  been  born  in  (^lanada. 

The  young  man  was  not  handsome,  perhaps,  but 
Ik;  had  a  cl(;ar,  frank  expression  pleasing  to  behold  ; 
and  1m;  bore  the  unmistakable  impress  of  thoughtful 
intellectuality.  It  could  be  traced  on  his  broad,  full 
brow,  from  which  his  dark  hair  was  carelessly 
l)ruslic(| ;  it  gleamed  from  the  depths  of  dark  eyes 
which  ha<l  that  a])})earance  of  latent  strength  notice- 
able in  a  deep  and  j)lacid  stream.  His  eyebrows 
were  sh'ong  and  well-arched  ;  his  chin  fine,  and  the 
lips  close-set.  Every  feature  was  strongly  marked, 
giving  thus  an  individuality  to  his  expression. 

At  colleije  he  had  borne  otT  many  honors.  En- 
(lowed  naturally  with  good  tahMits  he  had  cultivated 
them  l>y  assiduous  study.  He  h;id  th;it  patient  en- 
<lurance  which  will  ovei'come  scientillc  ililliculties, 
and  without  which  no  solid  success  can  be  attained. 
The  peaceful  though  exciting  contests  of  college 
examinations  used  to  call  forth  all  his  energy;  it 
was  not  tliat  he  had  a  childish  weakness  to  a])pear 
first  on  the  list,  but  l)ecause  he  had  asti-ong  sense  of 
duty  and  a  noble  ambition.  He  would  cordially 
assist  a  classmate  up  to  the  very  moment  of  begin- 


I 


m 


,iH 


i  ' 


'm 


n'     *  ■ 

■      I  ■■ 

\      I  I 


i| 


24 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


■I 


ning  an  examination  ;  he  would  supply  him  with 
liints  gathered  by  Jiis  iiidustry  in  reading :  but  once 
the  examination  had  begun  lie  would  strive  to  dis- 
tance all  competitors ;  and  he  generally  succeeded. 
lie  had  completed  a  brilliant  academical  and  philo- 
sophic course  at  Laval  IJniv^ersity,  and  had  serious 
thoughts  of  studying  for  the  church. 

Eleanor  resembled  her  brother  both  in  personal 
appearance  and  in  the  endowments  of  mind.  She 
had  just  graduated  with  honor  at  "  Villa  Marie." 

She  was,  one  might  say,  decidedly  attractive  ;  not 
a  beautiful  sim])leton,  but  a  generous,  high-souled 
girl  of  refined  taste,  and  consefpiently  of  a  dis- 
tinguished appearance.  P'or  a  person  of  refined 
taste  may  be  poor  and  ill-clad,  still  the  air  and  car- 
riage of  such  a  one  will  ever  arrest  attention.  The 
dust  and  mould  of  a  garret  cannot  hide  the 
beauties  of  one  of  Ilaphael's  paintings,  neither  can 
the  rags  of  a  beggar  conceal  the  manifestations  of 
interior  refinement. 

Eleanor  Leahy  had  a  loftier  idea  of  a  woman's 
business  in  life,  than  is  usually  had  by  the  modern 
miss.  She  did  not  think  that  her  object  was  to 
dress  as  extravagantly  and  as  ridiculously  as  pos- 
sible; nor  to  sit  whole  hours  devouring  sentimental 
love-stories;  neither  did  she  think  that  she  ought  to 
step  out  on  the  platform  to  champion  the  cause  of 
woman. 

Siie  knew  that  the  sphere  of  domestic  life  was 
ler  orbit;  in  it  she  ought  to  be  a  sun  brightening 
and  cheering  her  home  ;  if  married,  shedding  liglit 
and  gladness  on  the  path  of  her  husband ;    if    a 


1 


n\ 

tl 
h 

ail 
dl 


^M 


ON   THE   BANKS    OF  THE   ST.    LAWRENCE.    25 


im  witli 
but  once 
e  to  dis- 
cceeded. 
d  pliilo- 
l  serious 

personal 
id.  Slie 
;ine. 

ive ;  not 

li-sonled 

f  a  dis- 

refined 

and  car- 

n.     Tlie 

e    the 

ler  can 

ions  of 

'Oman's 
nodern 
was  to 
as  pos- 
iniental 
nght  to 
luse  of 

Ife  was 
itening 
<>•  liglit 
if    a 


K 


motlier,  engrossed  in  rearing  her  children  in  virtue 
thus  fitting  them  for  life  and  for  heaven.  She  saw 
how  the  ancient  pagan  world  had  debased  woman 
and  how  modern  pagans  sought  to  degrade  her,  l)y 
drawing  her  from  the  position  in  which  the  Church 
had  placed  her,  and  around  which  the  Faith  of 
Clirist  had  shed  a  halo  of  sanctity. 

As  already  said,  the  ])arcnts  of  these  two  charm- 
ing charactei's  were  natives  of  Ireland.  Thirty 
years  j^reviously  they  had  settled  by  the  great  St. 
Lawrence,  on  a  spot  well  adapted  for  farming  pur- 
j)0ses. 

[low  seldom  do  we  think  of  the  debt  we  owe  the 
hardy  pioneers  of  our  Dominion  !  To  me  those 
brave  old  settlers  who,  axe  in  hand,  pitched  their 
lonelv  loc:  cabins  in  the  midst  of  a  howlinir  wiUlei*- 
ness,  and,  with  nought  but  their  strong  arm  and 
brave  heart,  cut  down  the  immense  trees  and  cleared 
the  tangled  underwood,  and  made  smiling  corn-liehls 
take  the  place  of  waving  forests,  are  greater  heroes 
than  a  Napoleon  or  an  Alexander.  How  strong 
Mjul  deep  must  have  been  that  domestic  love  which 
nerved  their  wearj'^  arms  to  strike  again,  and  yet 
again,  for  wife  and  family  !  And  consider  how  ]>ure 
they  kept  their  simple  lives;  how  bright  their  ster- 
ling honesty  ever  shone  ! 

No;  when  we  think  of  these  men  ;  when  we  see 
the  few  last  surviving  ones  of  them  tottering  feebly 
through  our  streets;  when  we  say  the  last  prayers 
by  their  humble  graves;  and  then  consider  the  wihl 
licentiousness  of  our  day,  the  shameless  frauds,  the 
small  account  in  which    life  is  held  by  many,  we 


I 


'^i. 


26 


AB'TER   WEARY    YEARS. 


i  '■ ' 


i  1 


It!  !li 


can  never  admit  that  ignorance  of  reading  and  writ- 
ing is  dangerous  to  society.  We  rather  believe  that 
one  of  the  natural  causes  which  will  be  at  work  in 
bringing  about  the  final  doom  of  nations  will  be 
that  which  is  now  called  public  education. 

John  Leahy  was  a  pure  type  of  that  race  of 
pioneers  which  is  fast  dying  out.  He  was  a  strong, 
bold  man,  pleasant  in  appearance  and  kind  in  man- 
ner, lie  was  too  proud  to  do  a  mean  action,  and 
too  good  a  Christian  to  do  a  sinful  one.  lie  loved 
the  old  faith  of  Erin  for  which  his  fathers  had 
suffered  ;  and  his  greatest  hardshi})  in  the  early  days 
of  his  settlement  was  that  he  was  far  from  a  Catho- 
lic church.  But  he,  like  many  others  of  his  coun 
trymen,  became  in  his  humble  way  an  aj)ostle. 
He  would  travel  several  miles  to  bi'ing  the  priest  to 
"hold  a  station"  at  his  house;  at  length,  chiefly 
through  his  exertions,  a  beautiful  church  was  built. 
Now  there  was  a  large  village  around  it,  and  a 
resident  priest. 

Mrs.  Leahv  was  a  kind-hearted  woman  wlio  never 
sent  the  poor  empty-handed  away.  She  had  borne 
her  share  of  the  toil  and  privations  of  an  early 
settler's  life.  These  were  the  worthy  parents  of 
worthy  children.  They  were  contented  and  happy. 
God  had  blessed  them,  as  he  alwavs  does  those  who 
bring  his  faith  into  a  new  place,  and  they  were 
prosperous  in  their  old  days.  They  saw  their  two 
children,  whom  they  liad  early  trained  for  heaven, 
growing  up  in  virtue.  Their  cup  of  earthly  Iiappi- 
ness  was  full. 

Morgan  and  Eleanor  remained  for  some  time  gaz- 


M 


ON  TttlC  BANt^S   OP  THE  ST.   LAWRENCE.    27 


and  writ- 
lieve  that 
:  work  in 
s  will  be 

I  race  of 
a  strong, 

in  inan- 
ition, and 
lie  loved 
hers  had 
)ai-l  y  days 
a  Catho- 
his  conn 

a])ostle. 

j>riest  to 
cliiefly 

as  Iniilt. 

.,   and   a 


a 


lio  never 
d  borne 
an  earlv 
rents  ol" 
1  happy, 
ose  who 
y  were 
leir  two 
heaven, 
happi- 


ing  on  the  beautifnl  prospect,  but  it  was  clear  to 
Eleanor  that  her  brother's  thoughts  were  not  of  the 
scene  on  which  they  were  looking.  Once  or  twice 
she  had  made  some  remark  on  the  beauty  of  the 
landscape,  but  he  had  taken  no  notice  of  it.  Look- 
inir  down  the  river  slic  exclaimed  : 

"How  l)eautiful  those  distant  ships  appear, 
dwindled  away  to  little  boats,  with  tiny,  flapping 
sails  scarcely  larger  than  the  wings  of  a  sea-gull! 
How  gracefully  they  bend  and  sway  !  I  wonder  if 
Jacques  Cartier,  when  first  he  sailed  up  this  noble 
stream,  was  watched  by  the  Mif  iacs  from  these 
hills,  and,  if  so,  what  their  impressions  were." 

'•  Probably  he  was,"  replied  Morgan  ;  "and,  if  he 
was,  the  poor  red  man,  doubtless,  looked  upon  his 
ships  with  the  wonder  of  fear,  whilst  you  look  upon 
those  far  off  with  the  wonder  of  delight." 

"What  bold  men,  Morgan,  those  early  discoverers 
must  have  been  !  Think  of  Cohnnbus  venturin<r 
upon  the  wild  Atlantic  with  his  old-fashioned  gal- 
ley scarce  lit  for  the  calm  watei's  of  the  Metliter- 
ninean." 

"That  was  much,  Eleanor,  but  it  was  not  half  so 
<Iaring  as  the  sailing  away  out  into  the  unknown  and 
mysterious  ocean.  To  go  on  and  on  ;  farther  and 
farther  from  known  shores,  to  explore  the  great  and 
trackless  watei's  must  have  excited  a  feelino:  akin  to 
that  experienced  by  a  soul  in  the  last  moment  of  its 
union  with  the  body.  To  brave  rough  waves  and  high 
winds  requires  only  physical  courage;  but  to  expose 
one's-self  to  an  unknown  danger  needs  moral  qualities 
of  a  high  order." 


P 


28 


AFTKR   WEAUY    YEARS. 


:!/!  i, 
ill 


"  Yon  always  glide  into  metaphysics,  Morgan," 
lauglied  Eleanor. 

"  I  like  to  imagine  the  sensations  of  men  in  the 
great  moments  of  life,  that  is  all,  my  sister.  What 
must  Jacques  Cartier  have  felt  as  he  sailed  up  this 
broad  river?  Whither  was  he  going?  Where  or 
how  would  he  end  ?  Would  he  come  u])on  a  rich 
city  nourishing  in  these  vast  solitudes,  or  would  he 
discover  traces  of  antediluvian  man  V 

"I  see  what  you  mean,  my  philosophic  brother; 
and  1  do  think  thiit  discoverers  must  have  courai^eous 
souls." 

"  Indeed  yes,  Eleanor.  l>ut  Columbus  ha<l  other 
virtues  besides  true  courage.  Think  of  his  years 
of  anguish,  the  chaiings  of  a  noble  soul  filled  with  a 
sublime  ardor,  conscious  of  the  coi'rectness  of  its 
views  but  thwarted  i)y  adverse  circumstances,  lie 
felt  himself  entrusted  with  the  heavenly  mission  of 
bearing  Christ's  name  and  faith  to  distant  and  un- 
discovered shores;  he  had  received  the  mandate, but 
could  not  obtain  the  means  for  putting  it  into  exe- 
cution." 

"  I  have  often  thought,  Morgan,  on  the  troubles 
endured  by  (Jolnmbus;  how  patiently  he  always 
bore  them." 

"lie  had  good  need  of  patience,"  said  Morgan. 
Fancy  the  long  hours  he  spent  sitting  by  the  shore, 
beneath  his  humble  retreat  in  the  monastery  of  La 
Rabida,  witli  Ids  keen,  sad  eyes  ever  turned  to  the 
west.  As  he  watched  the  sun  sinkinu:  beneath  t\u) 
waves,  and  noted  the  sparkling  trail  of  light  that 
glittered   from   mid-ocean   to  the  horizon,  he  may 


h: 

h( 

t    th 


■■•tti 

m 


tv 


ON   THE   BANKS    OF   THE   ST.    LAWRENCE.    29 


lor 


•gan, 


)> 


I  in  the 
.     Wliat 

up  tliis 
Hiere  or 

II  a  rich 
*'oiild  he 

brotlier ; 


nrai'eoiis 


ia<l  otlier 

his  years 

!(1  witli  a 

ss  of    its 

•es.     II 0. 

issioii  of 

and  1111- 

hitc,  Imt 

nto  exe- 

t  roubles 
always 

[Morgan . 
lie  shore, 
•y  of  La 
k1  to  the 
;at]i  th(! 
;ht  tliat 
iho  may 


■  *. 

::r. 


>1 


liavc  tliought  it  an  ilhiininated  pathway  over  whicli 
lie  was  to  sail.  Or  it  may  have  ajipeared  to  hiiri  as 
the  first  sliininiering  of  that  glorious  light  of  Catlio- 
lic  Faith,  whieli  would,  ere  long,  spread  its  mild 
clTulgence  from  the  eastern  to  the  western  world." 

"  Rather  a  poetic  picture,  Morgan,  but  perhaps  a 
true  one." 

"I  will  add  another  touch,*"  said  her  brother  with 
a  smile.  "  II (jw  often  must  not  his  delicate  eon- 
science  have  dwelt  on  his  actions,  half  in  fear,  to 
discover  whether  he  had  done  all  he  could  to  carry 
out  his  mission,  J  low  often,  after  seeing  hope  upon 
hope  blighted,  must  he  not  have  sat  there  relitting 
in  his  mind,  like  the  Trojan  yEiieas  did  in  act,  his 
shattered  lleet.  Ihit  never  once  did  he  lose  faith  in 
his  theory,  or  doubt  his  heavenly  mandate.  lie 
drank  with  resiirnatioii  the  bitter  chalice  of  humilia- 
tion  which  has  to  be  drunk  by  generous  souls  called 
to  execute  an  eternal  dt'crce." 

''How  do  you  reconcile  your  [)ictiireof  Columbus 
with  some  of  his  lives  which  have  an  extensive  cir- 
ciilntion  V  asked  Eleanor. 

"Why,  (■olumbiis  had  his  enemies,  and  he  had 
unwary  friends.  IJetween  them  a  blight  was  cast 
on  his  good  name  for  a  time;  but  fuller  historic  re- 
searches iuive  shown  the  unblemished  purity  of  his 
l)rivate  life.  Ilis  second  marriage  is  placed  beyond 
a  doubt,  and  he  stiuids  forth  unsullied  among  the 
purest  and  noblest  of  mankind." 

''  1  am  glad  of  that,"  said  Eleanor.     "  It  is  a  great 
thing  to  have  a  great  name  vindicated.     Great  per 
sons  seem  more  nearly  related  to  us  than  the  un- 


"^ 


PI  c 


30 


AFTER   WKAHY    YKAHS. 


yi 


I 


famed  mass,  ami  soiiicliow  wu  chuiisli  tlieir  names 
as  family  ones." 

"All  cfTcct,  possibly,  of  our  vanity,  my  dear  sis- 
ter. Yet  consider  that  although  Awieriea  may 
lionor  the  name  of  her  diseoverer,  and  eherisli  it  as 
a  family  one,  many  of  her  children  seek  to  make  the 
faith  of  Colund)us  an  alien  plant.  Himself,  his 
best  friend  a  humble  monk,  superior  of  La  Tiabida, 
his  munificent  protector  Isabelle  the  C/atholic,  the 
cross  he  set  up  on  Hi'st  landing,  and  the  names  of 
saints  wliich,  in  his  piety,  he  gave  to  each  river  and 
headland,  stam|)ed  this  continent  with  the  indelible 
mark  of  our  Church.  Notwithstanding  this,  schem- 
ing politicians  and  ignorant  parsons  will  prate  about 
this  being  a  'Protestant  country.'  We  know  of  no 
lauds  which  Protestantism  has  discovered ;  it  came 
into  the  world  too  late  for  that." 

"And  we,  Morgan,  will  be  too  late  in  returning 
if  we  remain  here  much  longer  musing  on  the  ac- 
tions  of  the  mighty  dead,"  said  Eleanor  as  she  arose. 

Jjiglitly  down  the  hillside  they  went,  at  a  pace 
half  run  half  walk,  until  they  reached  a  narrow  path 
which  wound  along  the  river's  course.  Morgan  ap- 
peared absorbed  in  thought;  at  length  he  6j)oke: 

"  You  said  that  a  discoverer  must  have  a  great 
soul ;  what  have  you  to  say  id^out  the  soul  of  a 
soldier?" 

Eleanor  cast  a  swift,  astonished  glance  at  her 
brother.  He  \vas  walking  quietly  at  her  side  with 
downcast  eyes,  striking,  in  an  absent  manner,  at  a 
tall  reed  or  bristling  thistle  with  his  stout  walking- 
cane.     She  slowly  replied ; 


i: 


ON   TIIK    HANKS   OF   TIIK   ST.    LAWKENCE.    31 


r  iianiGB 

•1 

leiir  sis- 

'^ 

Bii    iiiiiy 

isli  it  as 

,i 

lakc  till! 

olf,   his 

''■\ 

]l:il)i(la, 

'^ 

jlic,  tlie 

'■,V 

aiues  of 

■5 

vcr  a!i(l 
lulclihlc 
,  sclicin- 
;c  about 
w  of  no 
it  came 

turning 
the  ac- 
0  arose, 
a  pace 
)W  patli 
ijjan  ap- 


>ke: 
:igr( 
il  of  a 


a  great 


at  her 
le  witli 
jr,  at  a 
alking- 


■■M 


"  I )()  you  mean  a  soldier  of  the  Cross  or  a  warrior  ?" 

"  Perliaps  eitlier  or  l)oth  ;  eacli  has,  at  times, 
tierce  battles  to  tight;  each  can  gain  an  eartlily  vic- 
tory and  a  heavenly  crown." 

'"Well,''  leturned  Eleanor,  "a  soldier  lighting  in 
;i  just  cause  may  certainly  claim  our  admii-ation.  I 
shudder  at  the  thought  of  the  shedding  of  human 
Mood,  but  I  suppose  it  may  sometimes  be  a  duty  to 
.lo  it." 

"■  Certainly,  Kleanor.  If  a  lieice  foe  shonld  en- 
deavor to  invade  our  ha})py  J)ominion,  to  lay  waste 
our  fields  an<l  to  overturn  our  institutions,  ought  we 
iu)t  to  applaud  the  gallant  hearts  wlio  would  go  fortli 
t()  drive  them  back  'i  Ouirlit  we  not  to  assist  them  ? 
The  women  of  Limeri(d<  who  fought  and  fell  in  tlic 
bi'each  when  Sarstield's  brave  troo[)S  drove  back  tlie 
( )range  William  liave  taught  us,  their  descendants, 
;i  noble  lesson  ;  and  were  our  peaceful  cities  attacked 
by  a  ruthless  foe,  I  ti'ust  that  no  coward  droj)  might 
l»e  found  to  have  adulterated  the  loyal  blood  of  my 
ancestors." 

While  speaking  thus,  a  ilush  of  pardonable  patri- 
otism and  determination  lit  up  the  young  man's  face, 
and  showed  him  to  be  a  worthy  descendant  of  the 
women  of  Limerick.     Eleanor  (juietly  asked  : 

"•  Do  you,  then,  love  our  Dominion  so  very 
much  ?" 

"  Certainly  T  do ;  is  it  not  my  country,  my  home? 
We  are  as  free,  perhaps  freer  than  any  other  people, 
except  the  subjects  of  the  Pope.  He  rules  his  peo- 
ple as  a  Father,  not  as  a  sovereign.  But  apart  fioni 
them,  wlio  are  so  secure  in  their  property,  or  their 


82 


AFTKK    WKAKY    YEARS. 


I|.f' 


iii' 

1 ! 

- 

J 

1 

.1 

li!- 


„  li; 


livcK,  ;is  \vc?  We  liiive  a  «;lorioii8  country,  and  when 
all  Jirilisli  Ameiiwi  .shall  liavc  been  weMcd  into  one 
^rand  Dominion  we  will  have  all  the  elements  of  a 
mii^hty  nation." 

"Dear  me,  Morgan  !"  laui^hed  Eleanor,  "you  are 
(juite  enthusiastic  in  your  love  of  cojintry.  J>ut  I, 
too,  dearly  love  thii.  sweet  motherland,  Canada,  and 
am  i^lad  that  it  is  not  in  any  dani:;er  of  invasion." 

"  No  ;  tliere  is  no  danger  of  that  sort  tlireatening 
us;  hut  do  you  not  know  that  tlie  Estates  of  tlic 
Church  are  metiaced  in  the  near  future?"  Ere  lon*!j 
the  French  soldiers  will  withdraw  from  liome,  and 
it  is  thought  an  uprisiui^-  will  he  fomented  l)y  paid 
emissaries  from  the  secret  societies.  1  liave  heen 
thinking  of  this,  and  tliat  is  wliy  I  asked  your  opin- 
ion of  a  soldier's  soul.  Nay,  luiy  ;  do  not  say  that  J 
intended  studying  for  the  Churcli,"  continued  Mor- 
gan,  as  liis  sister  was  about  to  sj)eak.  "I  did  intend 
tluit,  and  I  may  yet  he  a  soldier  of  tlie  Cross ;  hut  J 
am  resolved  to  gird  on  first  the  sword  of  the  flesh 
to  fight  for  Jlomc.  The  k^tates  of  the  Church  are 
the  patrimony  of  all  true  Catholics;  our  young 
Dominion  must  send  some  *.'f  her  children  to  guard 
our  rights.  I  mentioned  the  ./omen  of  Jjinierick; 
do  you  not  thiidv  that  those  lieroines,  gladly  as  they 
shed  their  blood  for  their  (^''f^'^  City,  would  much 
more  gladly  have  shed  it  for  llt)me  ?" 

They  were  silent  for  a  short  time.  Morgan 
watched  his  sister,  who  was  apparently  struggling 
with  some  dee})  emotion.  It  was  only  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  with  one  rapid  glance  to  heaven,  and  one 
convulsive  stamp  of  the  foot,  she  stood  on  the  path, 


-i 


-■-# 

m 


ON   THK   HANKS   OF  TlIK   ST.    LAWKKNCK, 


33 


(1  wlieii 
iito  Olio 
lib  of  a 

you  Jirc 
Jiut  I, 

(hi,  and 

io!i." 

utciiiiig 

of  tlic 

Ire  loiii; 

no,  uiul 

\ty  paid 

'0  hceii 

ir  opiii- 

y  tliat  J 

d  Mor- 

iiitend 

;  hut  J 

le  Hesli 

cli  arc 

youui^ 

>  _t:;uard 

crick ; 

s  tliey 

inucli 


IS 


0- 


lorgan 

gling 

a  ino- 

d  one 

path, 


I 


i 


•T. 


and,  laying  lier  hand   on  lier  hrothcr's  arm,  softly 
Haid : 

"You  know  how  I  love  you,  Morgan  ;  you  know 
how  lonely  I  am  when  y«>u  are  away  ;  you  know 
that  to  save  you  from  pain  or  trouble  I  wouhl  gladly 
hc.ir  any  HulTcring.  Notwithstiijiling  ail  this,  I 
could  see  even  you  die  in  the  cause  of  our  Holy 
Father,  with  sorrow  it  is  true,  hut  without  a  mur- 
mur. If  lieaven  calls  you  to  he  a  soldier  of  Pius 
IX.,  I  could  hncklc  on  your  sw(»rd  for  hattle  with 
tingcrs  that  would  not  trend>le.  God  and  my  faith 
hefore  any  earthly  oi>ject !" 

"JJravely  spoken,  my  dear  sister,"  said  Morgan  ; 
"you  have  lightened  my  task  wonderfully.  Father 
will  readily  grant  permission.  It  would  not  require 
much  to  induce  himself,  old  as  he  is,  to  go  witli  me. 
Mother's  love  of  Holy  Church  will,  I  am  certain, 
overcome  her  natural  love  for  me.  1  shall  see  about 
it  at  once,  and  start  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Would  that  I  might  accompany  you,"  siglied 
Eleanor.  "I  would  not  seek  to  keep  you  from 
hattle  in  such  a  cause.  The  one  who  could  refuse 
his  life's  blood  to  defend  tlie  centre  of  Cliristianity 
is  but  half  a  man,  and  nothing  of  a  Christian." 

"Why,  Eleanor,  you  ought  to  be  a  soldier's 
wife." 

'•'•Perhaps  I  jnay  he^''  she  thoughtfully  replied. 
3* 


\ 


34 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


CHAPTER    III. 


I  1 


f 


f  i 


J^Al)   ANNIVEBSAKY. 

Tiih:  brotlier  and  sister  had  now  reached  tlicir 
comfortable  home,  and  liad  aijjreed  to  sav  nothiiiii: 
of  Mori^an's  project  until  the  next  day.  During  the 
eveniuij,  while  Morijan  was  encrajiced  with  his  books, 
Eleanor  went  quietly  out,  and  ran  across  the  road 
to  a  neat  little  cottasre  not  far  distant.  A  trim  bed 
of  autumn  flowei's  bloomed  beneath  the  windows  on 
each  side  of  the  front-door,  A  simCA  bat,  and  a 
striped  rubber  ball,  such  as  is  commonly  used  by 
children,  lay  on  the  doorstep.  Not  far  off  a  kite 
which  had  once  been  of  numy  hues,  but  was  now 
faded  to  a  dull  yellow,  was  lying  as  if  hastily 
dropped. 

Just  within  the  doorway  was  seated  an  elderly 
woman  whose  appearance  was  most  attractive.  She 
was  pensive,  almost  sad,  and  would  have  appeared 
tjcloomy  were  it  not  for  a  calm  expression  of  hea- 
:ii\\y  peace  and  trustfulness  which  beamed  from 
her  dreamy  eyes.  She  was  neatly  and  simply 
dressed,  and  held  with  one  hand,  on  her  knee,  a 
boy's  cap  of  blue  cloth  with  a  glazed  peak. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  a  mighty  torrent  of  grief 
liad  swept  over  her  soul,  and  had  been  succeeded 
by  the  rainbow  of  a  patient  liopc.  Absorbed  in 
deep  thought,  she  had  not  noticed  the  quiet  ap- 


''I 

4 


A    RAD    ANNIVEUSAUY. 


3ff 


lothing 
ing  tlic 


])ro:icli  of  KlciUior,  until    in  ;i  tone  of  gentle  syin- 
jxitliy  she  said  : 

"Keeping,  as  iisnal,  yo.ir  sud  anniv(a\sary,  Mrs. 
IJarton."  With  a  ])lea6ed  look  Mrs.  Barton  took 
Eleanor's  liand  and  quietly  replie<l : 

'*Yes:  keeping  it  as  usual;  but  I  do  not  think 
that  I  shall  have  to  kee|)  it  many  more  years." 

"Do  you  still  hope,  then,  to  meet  him  on  earth?" 

"Ah!  my  girl,"  softly  began  Mrs.  Barton,  "you 
know  nothing  of  the  hope  of  a  mother's  soul.  AV^ill 
not  the  mother  whose  son  lias  gone  on  a  '  forlorn 
ho|)e'  hope  for  his  return?  Will  not  the  mother  of 
the  greatest  criminal  hoj)e  for  his  reformation  ?  All 
others  may  |)ronounce  him  a  second  impenitent  thief, 
but  she  will  have  some  ray  of  hope.  It  seems  to 
be  a  part  of  God's  mercy  towards  parents,  for  with- 
out it,  loving  as  they  do  their  children,  their  lives 
would  be  niiserable  indeed.  Ves,  1  still  hope  to 
meet  my  darling  boy  on  earth." 

Kleanor  quietly  drew  a  chair  alongside  of  Mrs. 
Ixirton's,  and  sat  pondering  on  these  words. 

How  l)eautiful  and  pure  is  the  love  of  a  mother! 
how  unselfish  and  indestructible  it  is !  it  is  a  reiiec- 
tion  on  earth  of  God's  love  in  heaven.  Ifow  often, 
and  how  carelessly,  are  both  slighted,  but  what  dread 
remorse  will  one  day  surely  follow  such  conduct ! 
Perlin])s  it  will  not  be  until  the  damp  earth  has 
been  heaped  upon  thy  mother's  tond),  O  thought- 
less child,  that  thou  wilt  value — all  too  late — that 
which  thou  hast  lost.  Then  wilt  thou  think  of  the 
toils  through  weary  days,  and  the  loving  watches 
through  weary  nights,  the  dee])  interest  in  thy  wel 


M 


5 


11  r 


ft  i  'I 


III 


86 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


w 


my 


1 

ll 

!; 

1 

]■ 

|;i 

1 

ill 

■ 

i 


fare,  and  the  teiidcr  care  of  thy  youth,  that  she,  tlie 
mother  now  cold  and  wasting  in  the  clammy  depths 
of  the  grave,  patiently  bore  for  thee.  Then  will 
every  act  of  disobedience  and  disrespect,  every  un- 
gracious word  which  thou  hast  uttered  to  her,  stand 
out  in  terrible  distinctness,  and  fly  like  barbed 
arrows  to  pierce  thy  guilty  heart. 

Ye  who  have  yet  your  mother  alive,  be  kind  to 
her,  cherish  her  while  you  may.  A  very  little  is  all 
she  exacts ;  a  snudl  return  of  love  satisfies  her  for 
the  ricli  store  which  she  lavished  on  you.  If  she  bo 
old  and  whimsical,  try  to  remember  how  patiently 
she  bore  the  caprices  of  your  childhood,  and  patiently 
bear  with  her. 

Some  such  thoughts  as  these  passed  through 
Eleanor's  mind  as  she  sat  silently  by  Mrs.  Barton, 
while  the  golden  fringe  of  day  slowly  faded  out 
from  the  western  skies.  After  a  pause  Mrs.  Barton 
resumed  : 

"  It  was  just  such  a  day  as  this  has  been,  twenty 
years  ago,  that  my  laughing  boy  disappeared.  He 
had  laid  down  yonder  his  kite,  and  was  playing  with 
his  ball  and  bat.  I  was  sitting  here  watching  him 
with  all  a  fond  mother's  love.  Suddenly  he  stopped, 
laid  down  his  ball  and  bat  on  the  doorstep,  and 
without  withdrawing  his  eyes  from  the  direction  of 
the  river,  gave  me  his  little  cap  to  hold — this  iden- 
tical one,"  she  said,  holding  up  the  blue  cloth  cap 
with  the  glazed  peak. 

" '  I  will  be  back  in  a  few  minutes,  dear  mamma,' 
he  said,  and  ran  quickly  down  the  path  to  the  river. 
I  have  never  seen  him  since." 


1 


A   SAD    ANNIVERSARY. 


87 


g  with 
^  liini 

),  iiiu] 
ion  of 
ideii- 
li  cap 

tiiina,' 
river. 


A  slii^lit  sigh  escaped  her  lips;  a  tear,  pure  as  a 
dewdrop  on  a  mountain  Hly,  sparkled  for  an  instant 
in  her  trustful  eyes. 

Eleanor  gently  took  her  disengaged  hand  between 
her  own  in  silent  sympathy. 

The  j)all  of  night  enveloped  the  heavens,  and  the 
gleaming  stars  flashed  out  from  their  aerial  hiding- 
places,  as  if  exulting  in  the  death  of  the  King  of 

It  was  a  beautiful  and  touching  sight  to  see  the 
fair  young  girl,  whose  life  had  known  no  sorrow  for 
loss  of  her  own,  sitting  side  by  side  in  a  faint  lane 
of  moonlight  with  the  elderly  woman  whose  earth- 
ly joys  had  been  early  embittered,  soothing  by 
.silent  companionship — often  the  most  welcome — the 
stirred  waters  of  her  ijjreat  <»:rief. 

After  a  time  Eleanor  remarked  : 

*'  lUit  why  on  this  day  bring  thus  before  you  the 
relics  of  your  lost  boy?  I  should  think  that  they 
would  only  increase  your  sorrow." 

"No,  Eleanor,"  replied  Mrs.  liarton,  "  they  do 
not.  Every  year,  as  you  know,  I  [)lace  on  this  day 
these  little  mementos  of  my  darling  Denis  on  the 
6})ot  on  wliich  he  threw  them  down,  and  sit  thus 
holding  his  little  cap.  It  is  like  his  legacy  to  me, 
and  I  try  to  be  faithful  to  his  trust.  r)esides,  there 
is  a  soothing  influence  in  gazing  on  w'hat  belonged 
to  those  we  loved.  It  recalls,  it  is  true,  our  loss, 
but  it  likewise  recalls  the  blessing  we  once  enjoyed 
in  having  had  the  object  of  our  love.  If  that  love 
has  been  what  it  ought  to  have  been,  to  be  reminded 
of  it  will  more  than  compensate  us  for  our  subse- 


) 


i; 


88 


AFTER    WEARY    YEARS. 


i1 


f 


qnent   sorrow.     The   siijjlit  of  tlicse    little  remem 
l)rances  of  my  boy  wriuf^s  my  soul   with  a  passiiij]^ 
pang,  but  it  is   like  pres.siu:^  the  spikenard,  which 
will  not  yield  its  odor  until  thus  j)ressed." 

Mrs.  Barton  and  her  husband,  dead  some  years 
ajjo,  had  been  friends  and  neitrhbors  of  the  Leahvs 
ever  since  they  settled  too^ether  on  the  banks  of  the 
St.  Lawrence.  Indeed,  they  had  been  acquainted  in 
the  "old  country."  Mrs.  liarton  had  but  one 
child,  Denis,  wlio  was  a  year  older  than  Eleanor. 
Morgan,  Eleanor,  ami  Denis  lia<l  been  playmates  in 
infancy,  and  the  fond  parents  had  often  thought 
how  happy  they  would  be  to  see  in  future  years 
Denis  and  Eleanor  man  and  wife,  and  Morgan  a 
priest.  I>ut  earthly  happiness,  like  human  calcula- 
tions, is  often  desti'oyed  when  it  promises  most. 
Denis,  as  related  above  by  his  mother,  disaj)peared 
when  he  was  five  years  old. 

Every  search  had  been  made  that  love  and  gener- 
ous svmpathv  could  suirgest,  but  all  in  vain.  No 
trace  of  Denis  had  ever  been  found.  All  except 
his  mother  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had  fallen 
into  the  river  and  been  carried  far  out  by  tlie  tide. 
Mrs.  Barton  never  believed  he  was  dead.  It  was 
not  with  her  a  diseased  whim,  but  a  profound  con- 
viction that  be  was  alive. 

AVas  it  only  that  Heaven  implanted  liope  so  strong 
in  a  mother's  heart,  of  which  she  has  just  spoken, 
that  thus  mercifully  assuaged  her  mighty  grief?  or 
was  it  some  real  though  inexplicable  action  of  her 
son's  soul  acting  on  her  own  as  lie  pined  for  licr  ? 


'I 

f 

4 

(1 

i 

0 

'% 
w 

h 

•# 

kft 

After  wear 


•yyo 


;irs  we  shall  see. 


A    SAD    ANNIVERSARY. 


39 


reinein 

""^.^E 

passiiiij^ 

'1 

,  wliicli 

A'-ff 

e  years 

Lealivs 

^  of  tlie 

nted  in 

1 

)iit   one 

M 

'i^Ieaiior. 

m 

latcs  in 

"^ 

thoui^lit 

% 

e  vejirs 

-)r«ijan  a 

caicula- 

s   most. 

i 

►pea  red 


II 


gener- 
No 
except 
fallen 
le  tide. 
It  was 
1  con- 
strong 
)okcn, 
f?  or 
of  her 
lier  ? 


The  streak  of  mellowed  light  gradually  receded 
from  the  two  figures  which  sat  within  the  cottage 
door,  as  the  moon  rose  liigher  'mid  the  lesser  fires 
of  heaven.  Mrs.  J'arton,  noticing  the  passing  of  the 
hours,  turned  to  Eleanor  and  said  : 

"  You  know  how  much  1  love  you,  my  dear  girl  ; 
you  have  often  heard  how  we  used  to  wish  that  you 
and  Denis  might  grow  up  to  love  one  another. 
Your  own  heautiful  character  would  of  itself  make 
you  very  dear  to  me;  hut  that  hoped-for  relation- 
ship to  my  dear  boy  has  made  you  almost  sacred  in 
my  eyes.  I  am  going  to  ask  something — perhaps  it 
is  too  much;  perhaps  it  is  too  late.  If  so,  do  not 
hesitate  to  refuse  plainly  ;  you  will  not  offend  me, 
neither  will  you  lessen  my  love  for  you." 

Eleanor  wondcringly  promised  to  obey  her  in- 
junctions. 

"  ft  is,"  said  Mrs.  ]>arton,  "  that  you  will  not 
plight  your  troth  to  any  one  before  next  Christmas 
three  years.  If  Denis  be  indeed  alive  we  shall 
surely  know  it  ere  that  time." 

Eleanor  had  long  known  this  former,  foolish,  per- 
haps, but  common  and  fond  notion  of  her  parents 
and  those  of  Denis.  She  just  remembered  the 
bright,  laughing  child,  with  dreamy  eyes  like  his 
mother's.  Though  tie  there  had  been  none,  still 
the  idea  of  some  undefinable  bond  haunted  her,  and 
endeared  Mrs.  Barton  to  her.    Smilingly  she  replied  : 

''  You  are  not  too  late,  dear  Mrs.  ]*)jirtoTi,  neithei* 
<lo  you  ask  too  much.     I  readily  give  the  desired 
]>roinise.     But   now  I   must   return  home.     Ciood 
night,  my  dear,  dear  mother !" 


I) 


i 


.  I  I 


i.  '": 


40 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


She  often  called  her  mother,  especially  on  these 
anniversaries,  for  she  knew  it  pleased  Mrs.  Barton. 

"  Good-night,  dear ;  you  will  yet  be  my  daugh- 
ter," said  Mrs.  Barton,  .is  she  imprinted  a  kiss  on 
Eleanor's  forehead. 

She  stood  for  a  moment  watching  the  young  girl 
hurrying  along  the  moon-lit  path.  Silently  praying 
a  blessing  on  her  head,  she  ste})ped  out,  and  gather- 
ing up  the  kite,  ball,  and  bat,  hrought  them  in  and 
laid  them,  together  with  the  cap,  on  the  little  bed 
of  her  los'  pon      itil  the  next  sad  anniversary. 


OIJAPTER  IV. 


OVEK   TUE    ATLANTIC,    AND    ACKUS8    TUE    ALPS. 


n 


li 

at 

th 


m:itL 


Hi."  I 


On  the  morning  following  the  events  just  nar- 
rated, Morgan  JxnUiy  made  known  to  his  parents 
liis  resolution  of  starting  for  Jiome  to  join  the  Pon- 
tilical  army.  In  an  impassioned  manner  he  spoke 
of  the  impious  attempts  which  were  being  made 
to  wrest  from  the  Pope  his  temporal  kingdom.  He 
dwelt  upon  the  injustice  and  mockery  of  talking 
about  an  '*  United  Italy,"  when  such  a  union  could 
only  be  effected  by  crime  and  force. 

"Were  Italy,"  he  said,  "destitute  of  legitimate 
rulers — were  her  various  peoples  bound  together  by 
traditions  of  the  past — were  she  in  a  state  of  an- 
archy on  account  of  lawless  factions,  it  would  be  a 


OVER  THE  ATLANTIC,  AND  ACROSS  THE  ALPS.   41 

nily  pjriiiul  luul  patriotic  idea  to  strive  to  bind  her 
strongly  toi^ether,  and  to  secure  for  lier  a  seat  at  the 
council-ljoard  of  nations.  In  sucli  a  case  tliere 
would  be  justice  and  patriotism  in  the  cry  of  an 
United  Italy.  Now  it  is  only  a  specious  motto  to 
i^race  the  ihtg  of  the  secret  societies,  and  to  draw  oil" 
attention  from  their  real  object,  the  overthrow,  if 
that  were  possible,  of  tlie  Church.  Italy  has  ever 
been  divided  into  various  political  states,  materially 
diifering  from  each  other;  they  do  not  want  to  be 
united.  Each  has  its  past,  from  which  it  does  not 
seek  to  cut  itself  adrift." 

With  such  remarks  as  these  Morgan  laid  bare  the 
schemes  of  revolutionary  agitators,  and  impressed 
upon  his  parents  the  duty  of  defending  the  rights 
of  the  l\)i)e.  Not  that  there  was  any  need  of  tliis; 
(or  this  old  cou[)le,  who  were  not  great  scholars, 
wiiose  hands  were  hardened  by  toil,  and  whose 
shoulders  were  bent  more  by  labor  than  years,  luid  a 
keener  sense  of  justice  and  a  liner  feeling  of  honor 
than  many  a  polished  statesman.  True  faith  more 
than  supplies  the  want  of  diplomatic  training,  and 
gives  a  refinement  of  feeling  and  of  sentiment  as 
uiduiown  as  it  is  unappreciated  by  a  godless  civiliza- 
tion. 

When  Morgan  ceased  speaking  he  turned  towai'ds 
his  father  and  saw  the  old  num's  eyes  sparkling,  he 
knew  not  whetlier  with  tears  or  with  the  awakened 
fire  of  martial  ardor  in  the  cause  of  the  Pope ;  per- 
haps from  a  combination  of  both.  For  John  Leahy 
was  no  degenerate  descendant  of  the  heroes  who 
fought   for   faith  aud  fatherland    under  the  great 


Hm 


I) 


42 


aftp:r  weary  years. 


% 


Brian  Born  on  Clontarfs  plains ;  or  of  tliose  wlio later 
on  saved  Irelancrs  honor,  if  not  her  independence, 
I)}'  their  gallant  stand  against  that  brutal  savage, 
that  scourge  of  Ireland,  and  that  scourge  and  dis- 
grace of  England  who  sul)niitted  to  him,  the  odious 
tyrant  Cromwell,  lie  loved  also,  with  a  father's 
proud  love,  his  gentle  though  enthusiastic  son.  A 
natural  feeling:  of  sorrow  might  cause  the  tear  to 
well  up  and  to  glisten  in  his  eye,  while  supernatu- 
ral faith  might  make  his  soul  shine  out  through  the 
drop  like  a  ray  of  light  shot  off  from  a  topaz. 

This  would  seem  to  he  the  case,  for  ho  leaped  up 
from  his  seat,  caught  Morgati  in  his  arms,  and  while 
straining  him  to  his  heart  devoutly  raised  his  eyes 
to  heaven  and  exclaimed  : 

"Glory  be  to  God!  The  old  faith  and  the  old 
spirit  still  animate  our  race.  The  chill  winds  of  a 
Canadian  winter  freeze  not  the  warm  blood  which 
has  Howed  through  a  line  of  (christian  heroes.  Yes, 
Morgan,  yes:  (icxl  bless  you,  my  boy, — go  and  fight 
for  the  Pope !" 

When  thfs  first  outburt^t  of  generous  enthusiasm 
aiul  love  of  religion  had  subsided,  the  old  man  shed 
a  few  tears  as  he  thought  of  his  son's  danger,  and 
his  own  lonely  life  without  him.  But  his  childlike 
eonlidenco  in  God  and  in  the  protection  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin  soon  calmed  his  troubled  spirit. 

"He  fs  going  to  light  for  the  cause  of  God;  and 
God  knows  how  to  protect  l:is  faithful  servants," 
were  his  softly  spoken  words. 

Mrs.  Leahy  made  more  objection  than  lier  worthy 
husband.    She  was  a  good,  pious  soul  j  but  like  many 


I 


OVER  THE  ATLANTIC,  AND  ACROSS  THE  ALPS.    43 


isiasm 

shed 

)]',  iiiul 

ildlikc 

if    tlio 

;  and 
ants," 


easy-i^oing  good  po()])lc  slic  had  not  learned  the 
fjreat  lesson  of  Ciiristian  perfeetion,  the  })roinptand 
cheerful  annihilation  of  self  for  the  love  of  (lod. 
She  detested  the  impiety  of  an  attack  on  Roine(piite 
as  heartily  as  any  one,  hut  she  would  })refer  to  sec  it 
rej)e]l('d  hy  other  arms  than  those  of  her  son. 

When  the  time  comes  for  striking  a  hlow  for  the 
deliverance  of  Home  from  its  present  usurpers,  we 
trust  that  mothers  will  not  think  that  it  is  enough  for 
them  to  pray  for  success,  and  to  keep  their  sons  at 
home.  Let  them,  when  that  time  shall  come,  wliich 
come  it  certainly  will,  he  like  the  mother  whose 
irlorv  is  recorded  in  the  book  of  Macchahes  :  let  tliem 
exhort  their  sons,  from  the  eldest  to  the  youngest, 
to  look  uj)  to  lieaven,  and  to  die  for  the  cause  of 
liome. 

The  objections  of  Mrs.  Leahy  were,  liowever, 
overcome  by  the  arguments  of  Morgan  and  Eleanor, 
and  hy  lier  own  sense  of  duty. 

It  was  arranged  tliat  Morgan  should  sail  from  Que- 
bec early  in  November.  As  it  was  now  past  the  mid- 
dle of  October  only  a  short  time  intervened.  In 
company  with  Eleanor  he  repaired  to  Montreal  to 
communicate  with  a  society  there  founded  for  the 
purpose  of  procuring  recruits  for  the  Pope's  army. 
Ihit  this  was  not  his  principal  motive:  he  desired  to 
make  a  quiet  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  our  Lady 
of  Good  Help  {Bonsecoiii's)^  and  to  place  himself 
under  her  protection. 

It  is  the  fashion  with  empty-headed  writers  wlio 
ape  stupid  infidels  to  sneer  at  religious  observances, 
and  to  laugh  at  men  of  prayer.     This  ignorant  flip- 


I) 


M 


y|l| 


44 


AF^TKK    WKAKY    YKARS. 


panoy  is  palatable  to  a  world  grown  old  in  sin,  and 
to  men  who  make  a  God  of  their  passions.  Many 
an  unwary  youth  has  his  mind  ])oisoned  hy  reading 
sueh  scort's,  and  perjiaps  thiid^s  the  soldier  who  prays 
a  coward. 

(Jourage,  to  be  praiseworthy,  must  be  a  reasona- 
ble act.  The  bull  which  insanely  rushes  to  attack 
a  steam-engine  is  just  as  worthy  of  })raise  as  the 
besotted  ruffian  who  plunges,  unthinkijigly,  into  the 
midst  of  a  tight.  True  courage  foiesees  and  calcu- 
lates danger  from  which  human  nature  naturally 
shi'inks,  but  lired  by  a  sense  of  duty,  and  trusting 
in  God,  it  disrefijards  the  danii^er  in  ordei'  to  dis- 
charge  its  obligations. 

The  prayer  of  the  Christian  soldier  is  not  an 
effect  of  cowardice ;  it  is  an  iiulex  of  true  bravery, 
because  it  proves  the  man  who  utters  it  to  Ik;  con- 
scious of  danger,  but  still  to  be  resolved,  through  a 
sense  of  duty,  to  meet  it  with  calmness.  The 
prayer  uttered  by  the  sailors  on  board  the  Christian 
fleet,  just  before  their  encounter  with  the  Turks  at 
Lepanto,  did  not  unman  their  hearts  nor  unnerve 
their  arms:  it  rather  added  a  supernatural  element 
to  their  motive  of  action,  and  shed  an  aureole  of 
merit  arouiul  their  bravery.  The  prayer  of  King 
John  of  Poland,  when  about  to  face  the  Moslem 
hordes  beneath  the  beleaguered  walls  of  Vienna,  did 
not  make  him  less  courageous  in  the  terrible  on- 
slaught. It  is  time  that  writers  would  recognize 
that  true  bravery  is  a  virtue,  and,  like  every  other 
virtue,  has  its  root  in  religion  and  is  nourished  by 
prayer. 


I 


OVER  THE  ATLANTIC,  AND  ACUOSS  THE  ALPS.    4i5 


Morgan  paid  his  visit  to  our  Lady's  shrine,  and 
hung  uj),  lu^  a  votive  offering,  a  beautiful  silver  hunp. 
Fervently  did  he  and  Eleanor  pray  for  grace  and 
assistance  in  time  of  danger.  God  filled  their 
hearts  with  his  holy  peace,  and  they  returned  calmly 
li!ip|)y. 

The  day  for  his  dep.'irture  arrived,  and  Morgan 
l»:idc  a  fond  adieu  to  his  parents  and  friends.  lie 
(Muharked  at  (^uehec,  and  was  soon  gliding  swiftly 
down  the  8t.  Lawrence.  On  the  third  eveninii: 
tliey  liad  rounded  the  last  headland  in  the  Gulf,  and 
were  fairly  in  the  ocean. 

Towards  nightfall  the  land  had  hei^un  to  fade 
from  view;  the  vessel  rolled  considerably,  obliging 
many  of  the  passengers  to  seek  their  state-rooms. 

Moriran  went  on  dt^ck,  an<i  stood  for  a  time  iraz- 
lug  on  the  crescent  moon  sparkling  faintly  on  the 
expanse  of  waters.  lie  turned  his  eyes  to  the  fast- 
receding  shores  of  his  native  land,  and  ])ondered 
seriously  on  his  past  life  and  speculated  on  his 
future  i)rospects.  Althougli,  when  leaving  home, 
he  had  beheld  with  dry  eyes  a  mother's  tears,  and 
seen  an  aged  father's  quivering  lip,  and  felt  liis 
aifectionato  grasp  tightening  on  the  hand  which  lie 
fondly  retained,  he  now  experienced  j)angs  of 
sharp  regret;  bitterly  did  he  reproach  himself  for 
any  trouble  he  had  given. 

In  moments  such  as  these  the  founts  of  tlie  heart 
are  opened ;  the  buried  affections  of  the  soul  are 
disinterred  ;  our  past  life  rises  out  of  the  darkness 
of  oblivion,  and  confronts  us  in  solemnity.  Happy 
those  who  have  no  reason  to  dread  such  phantoms ! 


C 


46 


AKTKK    WEARY    YKARfl. 


In  various  colors  were  ]);iiuted  before  Morgan's 
mental  vision  the  scenes  of  the  past.  Some  were 
pure  and  fair,  telling  of  boyhood's  happy  days  ere 
yet  the  soul  had  lost  its  childish  innocence;  tellingof 
those  blissful  days  when  the  sweet  prayer  learned  in 
infancy  from  a  gentle  mother's  lips  was,  night  and 
morning,  wafted  like  grateful  incense  to  the  God- 
head's throne.  Others  wei'c  more  bright  and  golden, 
brilliant  with  hope,  and  tinged  with  the  rosy  hue 
of  the  lofty  asjurations  of  youth.  I'ut  alas!  earthly 
brightness  is  as  lieeting  as  earthly  haj)})ine8s.  A 
murky  cloud  obscured  the  fair  picture;  the  golden 
fringe  grew  dark  ;  the  rosy  tint  faded  gradually 
away,  and  silently,  like  the  light  visions  which 
sport  through  the  sleeper's  brain,  the  whole  sank 
in  darkness.         *         *         x-         4t 

At  length  the  cloud  passed  away;  the  scene  once 
more  emerged  into  light,  but  changed  was  its  aspect. 
More  subdued,  nuyre  peaceful,  more  trusting  was  its 
appearance.  The  golden  color  was  no  longer  there, 
and  the  rosy  hue  was  chastened,  and  serene,  and 
calm.  A  youth  knelt  in  humble  prayer  to  the  Vir- 
gin Immaculate,  and  that  prayer  was  heard.  The 
picture  still  told  of  hope  and  of  lofty  aspirations, — 
but  of  hope  beyond  the  grave,  where  alone  true  joy 
is  to  be  found,  and  of  lofty  aspirations  for  God's 
glory. 

There  are  persons  who  are  never  tired  of  j)raising 
the  delights  of  a  sea-voyage.  Possibly  they  never 
made  a  lengthy  one.  A  short  trip  in  pleasant 
weather  may  be  very  delightful ;  the  variegated 
prospects  of  deep  blue  sea  and  distant  green  knolls 


OVKRTHK  ATLANTIC,  AND  ACROSS  THK  ALPS.   47 


arisiiiEr  lil^'c  jjiaiit  Tritons  from  their  watcrv  domain, 
may  be  quite  enchanting.  But  to  be  tossed  about 
for  weeks  on  tlie  Athmtie  billows,  witli  an  unend- 
ing monotony  of  sky  and  sea,  is  not- -one  may  be 
pardoned  for  tii inking — the  most  enjoyable  situation 
in  life.  (ilini))ses  of  sea  and  sky  arc  clianning  in  a 
picture,  but  ihvy  are  l)y  far  too  predomiuiuit  when 
crossing  the  o(ran.  Aild  to  this  s:niieness  of  view 
a  giddinesss  of  head,  an  obstinate  disposition  on  tlie 
part  of  the  legs  to  earry  you  ''  across  decks"  in- 
stead of  straight  forward,  an  abhorrence  of  food,  and 
a  general  fettling  of  indifference  to  the  ])roblem 
whether  tlie  good  ship  may  sink  or  swijn,  and  it 
may  be  d<»iibted  if  even  Jiyron,  under  such  circum- 
stances, would  go  into  ra})tures  about  the  sea. 

Morgan  did  not  suffer  much  from  sea-sickness. 
He  went  on  deck  every  day,  and  used  to  exj^erience 
a  strange  feelins:  of  solcmnitv  as  he  felt  the  shii) 
ploughing,  with  a  subdued,  rushing  sound,  through 
the  water.  How  isolated  and  lielpless  one  feels  on 
the  deep!  The  ship  is  but  a  speck  on  the  immense 
waste  of  waters  wliich  sport  with  her  weakness.  A 
few  inches  of  wood  that  may  be  riven  by  the 
straining  of  the  vessel,  or  consumed  by  lire,  is  all 
that  intervenes  between  you  and  death. 

Tiiere  is  sublimity  and  danger  in  a  squall  on  the 
Atlantic.  A  fitful  wind  is  abroad  on  a  "squally" 
day.  For  an  hour  or  more  the  sky  will  be  clear 
and  the  sea  smootli.  Anon,  in  the  distance,  a  dark 
spot  will  be  seen  which  ra})idly  grows  in  size,  and 
quickly  develops  into  a  cloud  of  dark  mist.  On  it 
will  come,  seeming  to  glide  phantom-like  over  the 


0 


48 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


\  'i 


: 

!*;  ■ 

f. 


,  ^''1 


agitated  bosom  of  the  waters,  and  gradually  hiding 
the  bright  rays  of  the  mid-day  snn.  Jets  of  spray, 
and  huge  billows  flecked  with  a  creamy  foam,  come 
dashing  madly  forward,  like  savage  heralds  of  the 
advancing  storm-kiiii*;.  The  broken  waves  wash 
over  the  decks;  the  mist  envelops  the  ship,  and  the 
winds  roar  hoarsely  through  the  rigging.  But  the 
sailors  had  seen  the  danger;  the  sails  had  been  low- 
ered and  furled  ere  the  squall  struck,  and  the  vessel 
kept  before  tlie  wind.  Disaster  is  thus  usually 
averted;  but  persons  unuvsed  to  such  scenes  are  filled 
with  awe,  and  feel  for  ^neas  when  relentless  Juno 
obtained  from  yEolus  the  release  of  the  winds  from 
their  rocky  prison-house. 

Morgan  had  witnessed  one  of  these  squalls,  and 
wished  that  Virgil  could  have  seen  it,  in  ordei"  that 
his  description  of  the  Trojan  hero's  perils  might 
have  been  yet  more  vivid.  But  worse  was  to  come. 
During  the  day  the  wind  veere<l  round  all  the 
points  of  the  compass,  and  settled  at  the  northwest. 
Tliis  caused  a  heavv  swell  of  sea,  and  when  after 
nijjhtfail  the  j^nlo  increased  to  a  liurricane,  the 
gallant  ship  was  tosse<l  about  as  aimlessly  as  a 
bubble  (lisj»orting  in  a  zephyr.  Towards  midnight 
the  storm  reached  height;  it  was  impossible  to 
keep  before  the  w  <J,  for  the  waves  were  washing 
over  the  deck  and  drenchin<2:  the  cal)in.  Sail  was 
furled,  and  the  ship  was  "hove  to." 

Poor  Morgan  felt  slightly  sick  and  somewliat  un- 
nerved. He  thought  it  would  be  a  dismal  fate  to 
sink,  on  that  wild  night,  beneatli  the  surging  sea, 
amidst  the  crasli   of  timbers,  the   hissing  of   the 


I'  i:  i 


OVER  THE  ATLANTIC,  AND  ACROSS  THE  ALPS.   49 


oine. 

tlio 
kvest. 
after 

tho 
as   a 

ij^ht 
le  to 

ling 

was 

11  n- 

,e  to 

sea, 

the 


i 


waters,  and  the  screams  of  tlic  passengers ;  to  liave 
all  the  aspirations  of  youth  rudely  buried  in  the 
seething  waves :  to  perish  on  the  pitiless  ocean,  so 
far  from  home,  while  loved  ones  were  perhaps 
wondering  where  he  might  he,  or  perchance  olfer- 
ing  up  a  prayer  to  the  Almighty  for  his  safety  ;  to 
think,  as  life  was  departing,  that  no  one  would  he 
left  to  tell  the  storv  of  liis  fate,  or  to  give  to  sor- 
rowing  friends  the  mournful  satisfaction  of  knowing 
how  he  had  died. 

These  thoughts  coursed  quickly  through  his 
mind,  and  awoke  all  the  tender  affections  of  his 
soul.  It  is  in  such  moments  as  these  that  one 
l)ecomcs  aware  of  the  real  nature  of  one's  love  for 
friends. 

Morgan  was  resolved  not  to  die  in  his  stateroom, 
hnt  to  go  on  deck  and  he  prepared  to  battle  for  life, 
or  at  least  to  be  able  to  look  up  to  the  sky  wlien 
sinking.  But  soon  an  unaccountable  something 
dispelled  all  gloomy  thoughts;  he  felt  his  time  had 
not  yet  come;  he  felt  that  the  })rotection  of  the 
Jnimaculate  Virgin,  unc'er  whose  patronage  he  had 
placed  himself,  was  not  withdrawn.- 

All  night  the  storm  raged,  but  gradually  de- 
creased towards  dawn.  The  sight  presented  by  the 
sea  at  daylight  was  terrific.  No  one  who  has  not 
witnessed  an  Atlantic  storm  can  imagine  its  un- 
tamed fury.  At  one  moment  the  ship  would  rise 
on  the  crest  of  a  towering  wave,  hundreds  of  feet 
above  the  natural  level ;  next  moment  it  would 
descend  with  a  giddy  whirl  into  the  trough  of  the 
sea,  while  mighty  billows  rose  far  above  its  masts 


{) 


-T~rr 


1^' 

13! 

I-  S* 


50 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


i  • 
I  *  • 


^1, 


u  i 


on  each  side.  One  would  fancy  escape  impossible ; 
but  in  a  moment  the  swell  of  a  wave  from  behind 
would  rise  under  the  vessel's  keel,  and  quickly  shoot 
her  aloft  on  its  advancing  tide.  The  water  no 
longer  appeared  liquid,  but  seemed  to  be  pressed 
into  a  firm  substance,  and  to  surge  to  and  fro  in  solid 
masses,  like  great  bodies  of  snow,  emitting  a  hissing 
sound  not  unlike  the  noise  of  a  snowdrift  on  a,  ild 
day  in  February. 

After  the  storm  had  subsided,  a  favoring  breeze 
soon  wafted  the  ship  into  tlie  magnificent  harbor 
of  Liverpool.  Without  delay  Morgan  started  by 
train  to  London,  and  quickly  passed  on  to  Brussels. 
Thence  he  went  on  to  Cologne,  and  up  the  banks 
of  the  Rhine  by  railway. 

Arrived  at  Bale  he  resolved  to  pass  into  Italy  by 
Mount  St.  Gothard,  one  of  the  Alpine  range.  lie 
crossed  the  beauteous  Lake  of  Lucerne,  which 
quietly  nestles  in  the  bosom  of  snow-capped  Alj)s, 
like  a  lovely  child  asleep  in  the  arms  of  a  hoary 
grandparent.  At  Altorf,  a  small  village,  he  took 
the  stage-coach,  which  conveys  passengers  who  de- 
sire to  ride  over  these  rugged  heights  up  the  frown- 
ing mountain. 

The  road  is,  in  great  part,  cut  out  of  the  rock 
along  the  edge  of  the  ascent,  and  runs  zig-zag  up 
its  almost  perpendicular  sides.  As  you  ascend  it 
becomes  more  steeji ;  the  path  is  quite  narrow,  the 
outer  wheel  of  the  carriage  being  only  a  few  inches 
from  the  brink.  The  mountain  falls  down  with 
alarming  steepness.  Far  below  rushes  a  wild  tor- 
rent, plunging  and  hissing  through  its  rocky  gorge. 


OVER  THE  ATLANTIC,  AND  ACROSS  THE  ALPS.   51 


Jagged  rocks  and  stunted  trees  offer,  liere  and  there, 
;i  precarious  footing  for  a  daring  climber.  One 
slight  push  over  the  edge  of  the  road,  and  all  would 
he  over  in  this  world.  The  torrent,  thundering  so 
far  below,  would  receive  the  shattered  fragments  of 
what  had  once  been  a  human  body,  and  would  bear 
them  to  the  Rhine,  and  thence  to  the  German  Ocean. 

The  drivers  of  these  conveyances  have  a  startling 
hit  of  professional  playfulness,  not  always  appreci- 
ated by  travellers.  It  is  this :  when  a  timid  passen- 
ger remarks  that  the  wheel  is  dangerously  near  the 
brink,  the  driver  says,  "Look  here!"  and  jerks  the 
horses  until  the  wheel  grazes  the  extreme  edge. 
Your  only  consolation  is  the  certainty  that  an  upset 
would  involve  the  death  of  the  coachman  and 
liorses,  as  well  as  your  own. 

Along  this  mountain  track  traces  of  human  habi- 
tations are  to  be  seen.  A  rude  shed,  supported  by 
a  jutting  rock,  serves  the  hardy  mountaineer  for 
a  dwelling;  scanty  patches  of  clay  'mid  the  clefts 
of  the  stone,  and  table- rocks  covered  with  soil  carried 
u|)  from  far  below,  affoi'd  a  little  space  on  which  to 
<,now  a  sparse  crop  of  vegetables.  The  wild  goat, 
wliich,  l)y  some  process  known  only  to  itself,  ekes 
out  a  livelihood  on  these  barren  heights,  sup])lie8 
meat  and  clothing.  Blasted  trees  are  good  fuel ; 
what  more  is  wanting  to  those  who  desire  no  better? 

The  free  air  of  heaven  blows  coldly,  at  times, 
over  their  exposed  brows ;  the  sharp  frost  pinches 
their gloveless  hands;  the  wild  goat  may  elude  their 
pursuit, — but  what  of  that?  Is  there  no  misery  in 
towns  and  cities  ? 


52 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


'    ill 


Tlic  mountaineer  is  not  haunted  by  the  tax  gath- 
erer ;  lie  is  not  dunned  by  the  baker ;  he  is  not  bul 
lied  by  the  butcher.  Freely  he  climbs  his  rugged 
patrimony ;  sweetly  he  sleeps  in  his  rude  hut ;  fer- 
vently he  prays  in  the  little  oratory  or  before  a  pic- 
ture of  the  Madonna  set  in  some  rocky  recess.  If 
contentment  of  mind  be  a  true  measure  of  happi- 
ness, the  mountaineer  is  more  blest,  in  this  regard, 
than  the  millionnaire. 

When  Morgan  and  his  companions  had  arrived  on 
the  summit  of  Mount  St.  Gothard,  a  wild  and  rugged 
panorama  was  presented  to  view.  They  were  thou- 
sands of  feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea.  The  mists 
were  thickened  and  congealed  in  the  cold  upper  air. 
Snow  was  on  the  ground ;  snow  was  in  the  air ; 
snow  was  drifting  in  eddying  whirls  down  tlio 
ijoro^es  of  the  mountain. 

The  various  bald  peaks  of  the  Alpiiie  hills  looked 
as  cold  and  cheerless  as  the  bi'okcn  shafts  and  draped 
funeral  urns  which,  unrelieved  by  the  (Jross  or  any 
emblem  of  ho})e,  may  be  seen  in  many  cemeteries. 
The  sublime  savagery  of  unreclaimed  nature  stood 
forth  in  all  its  massive  strength  and  beauty. 

What  a  puny  being  man  appears  v.hen  considered 
side  by  side  with  one  of  these  dark,  frowning  moun- 
tains! yet  what  a  noble  superiority  is  his  which  en- 
ables liim  to  triumphantly  scale  these  giddy  heights, 
or  to  pierce  a  track  through  their  rocky  bowels 
along  which  screeching  engines  may  rattle  and 
labor,  a  fitting  heart  for  such  enduring  hills. 

But  even  these  savage  wilds  have  been  warmed 
and  brightened  by  Catholic  charity.     Ages  ago,  ere 


OVER  THE  ATLANTIC,  AND  ACROSS  THE  ALPS.   53 


yet  steam  and  electricity  had  become  the  servants 
uf  man,  and  ore  an  ungrateful  world  iiad  begun  to 
persecute  its  benefactors — the  religious  orders — a 
community  of  monks  was  established  on  these  bar- 
ren peaks.  They  employed  their  time  in  glorifying 
God  amid  these  howUng  soHtudes,  and  in  caring  for 
the  occasional  wayfarer  who  passed  from  Switzer- 
land to  Italy. 

We  often    hear   sneers  and   gibes  against   those 
i^enerous  men  who,  renouncing  all  worldly  comforts, 
dedicate  tliemselves  to  the  service  of  God,  and  to 
the  care  of  his  suffering  creatures.     Men  who  have 
rarely  denied  themselves  a  forbidden  pleasure,  or 
wrought  at  any  useful  trade,  or  assisted  a  fellow- 
being  in  distress,   will   prate   about  "  lazy  monks" 
and   political   economy.      Unable   to   appreciate   a 
iiuble  spirit  of  sacrifice,  they  declaim  against  it  as 
unreal.     With  long-drawn  faces  they   will  deliber- 
ately swindle  day  after  day,  falsify  bank  accounts, 
impoverish  and   crusli    witiiout  remorse,   and   then 
cant  and  whine  at  prayer-meetings  about  the  evils 
of  monasteries.     Had  such  as  these  been  ever  ex- 
hausted in  the  dreary  waste  of  Al})ine  snow,  and 
felt  tliC  cold  shadow  of  <leath  from  frost-bite  grad- 
ually projected  over  theii'  bodies,  and  been  roused 
to  consciousness  by  a  huge  but  gentle  dog  licking 
the  snow  from  their  face,  and  by  a  draught  of  warm 
wine  and  milk   proffered   l)y  one  of  these  abused 
monks,  perhaps  even  their  devilish  malice  against 
God's   holy   ones   might    be   softened.     Hundreds, 
aye,  thousands  of  hunum  beings  have  been  saved 
from  death  by  those  devoted  men  who  left  cheerful 


54 


aftp:u  weary  years. 


I  i  i 


l] 


if     I 

!     !i 


rooms  to  wander  out  into  the  cold  blasts  of  the  Alps 
in  search  of  lost  travellers. 

At  the  old  monastery  the  poor  are  fed  gratis,  and 
ordinary  travellers  can  procure  an  excellent  dinnei* 
at  a  small  cost.  A  fresh  relay  of  horses  was  pro- 
cured for  the  descent  towards  Italy.  The  I'oad  was 
cut  out  of  the  mountain  in  a  manner  similar  to  that 
already  described.  Naturally  the  descent  is  more 
expeditious  than  the  ascent,  but  it  is  perhaps  more 
trying  to  weak  nerves.  The  horses  are  jerked  so 
often  and  so  sharply  around  the  corners  of  the  zig- 
zag path,  that  one  begins  to  fear  they  may  grow 
dizzy  and  fall. 

As  the  coach  in  which  Morgan  rode  passed  near 
a  small  hut,  a  little  girl,  with  all  the  wild  beauty  of 
a  mountain  sprite,  came  out  and  nimbly  ran  for  a 
distance  at  its  side,  holding  up  for  sale  a  few  flowers 
which  she  had  just  culled.  They  had  none  of  the 
rich  coloring  or  luxuriant  foliage  of  the  flowers 
which  grew  in  the  plains  beneath ;  they  were  cold 
and  chaste,  and  redolent  of  the  mountain's  snow. 

Towards  nightfall  Morgan  alighted  and  walked 
for  a  short  time,  whilst  the  driver  was  engaged  in 
mending  a  broken  strap.  He  gazed  round  on  a 
scene  well  calculated  to  inspire  awe.  Far  below 
him,  to  the  south,  stretched  the  Italian  plains,  dinily 
lighted  up  by  the  autumn  twilight.  Lago  Maggiore 
faintly  glistened  in  its  beauteous  recess ;  the  Ticino 
hoarsely  chafed  down  its  gloomy  ravine;  little 
streamlets  which,  through  an  open  valley,  would 
have  babbled  peacefully  onward,  leaped  with  a  sharp, 
hissing  sound  from  crag   to  boulder,  and   frothed 


OVER  THE  ATLANTIC,  AND  ACROSS  THE  ALPS.   55 


and  foamed  in  their  puny  strength.  Iligli  above 
him  the  grim  peak  wliicli  he  had  descended  stood 
frowning  and  stern,  despite  the  glow  on  its  summit 
wliich  yet  caught  tlie  sun's  expiring  beam.  It  was 
not  unlike  a  gloomy  misanthrope  in  a  well-lighted 
(h-awing-room. 

Every  ol)ject  around,  the  beetling  crags,  the  thiin- 
ilering  river,,  the  foaming  brooks,  the  irregular  mass 
of  unshaken  mountain,  spoke  of  strength  and  great- 
ness. 

O  God !  how  little  does  man's  power  seem  amid 
the  Alpine  heights!  how  great  doth  thine  appear! 

At  the  foot  of  the  mountain  Morgan  remained  all 
night,  and  crossed  the  isle-dotted  Lago  Maggiore  in 
tlie  morning.  Tiiis  is,  after  Lake  Conio,  the  most 
beautiful  in  Europe.  The  scenery  around  its  banks 
and  on  its  fairy  aits,  is  varied  and  magnificent. 
From  the  bold  grandeur  of  the  Jura  Mountains  to 
the  smiling  loveliness  of  the  Italian  shores,  every 
phase  of  natural  beauty  is  to  be  seen. 

Morgan  landed  on  the  Italian  soil,  and  swiftly 
sped  by  train  to  Milan.  The  great  cathedral  was 
hastily  inspected,  and  on  he  went  to  Venice. 

The  Queen  of  the  Adriatic  still  attracts  the  tourist 
and  the  lover  of  art.  No  adventurous  Doge  })ilots 
licr  fleets  to  distant  lands;  no  martial  sailors  sweej) 
(h»wn  the  Gulf  to  bear  supplies  to  an  army  of  Cru- 
saders. The  Lion  of  St.  Mark  sleeps  listlessly  at  his 
})ost ;  the  great  square,  which  once  resounded  with 
the  tread  of  heroes,  now  echoes  at  times  the  foot- 
falls of  scheming  revobitionists,  wlio  plot,  in  dark 
lod«^e8^  the  downfall  of  that  Church  to  which  Italy 


r 


(  ' 


s$ 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


^t:,l 


owes  all  its  glory.  Yet  there  is  a  lingering  of  old- 
time  beauty  and  majesty  around  Venice  still;  she  is 
a  discrowned  (^ueen,  l)Ut  traces  of  royal  greatness 
remain.  The  song  of  the  gondolier  is  still  heard  on 
her  canals,  and  the  great  Oliurch  of  8t.  Mark  still 
tells  of  past  glories,  and  speaks  from  its  every  stone 
a  hymn  of  praise  to  God. 

It  was  while  visiting  this  cathedral  that  Morgan 
met  a  party  who  were  his  fellow-travellers  after- 
wards to  Rome.  Said  ])arty  consisted  of  an  elderly 
man  and  his  wife,  together  with  their  two  daughters 
and  a  son.  They  were  from  the  United  States, 
and  were  a  good  specimen  of  that  class  of  vulgar 
persons  who  acquired  money  during  the  late  Civil 
War. 

Newspaper  scribblers  would,  probably,  call  Mr. 
Drew  a  '•'  self-made"  man.  By  this  phrase  you  often 
find  designated  creatures  wlio  are  composed,  so  to 
speak,  of  ninety-nine  parts  beast  and  one  part  man. 
So  that  the  individual  has  made  money,  whether  by 
honest  business  or  by  defrauding  the  Government, 
or  by  cheating  the  Indians,  or  by  robbing  a  credu- 
lous multitude,  he  is  frequently  styled  a  "self- 
made"  man.  A  gushing  reporter  will  give  a  sketch 
of  his  life,  and  propose  it  as  a  model  to  rational 
beings.  Small  wonder  that  dishonesty  is  rampant 
when  it  is  fawned  upon  instead  of  being  denounced. 

Mr.  Drew  had  made  his  ''  pile,"  as  he  called  it,  by 
supplying  bad  army-shoes  at  an  enormous  price. 
He  was  shrewd,  ignorant,  and  unprincipled.  Ilis 
wife  was  vulgar,  but  good-natured.  The  daughters 
had  been  sent   to   a   boarding-scliool,  where  they 


OVER  THE  ATLANTIC,  AND  ACKOSS  TJIK  ALPS.   f)7 


learned  to  haiiiiner  a  little  on  the  piano,  to  forget 
English  and  to  dabhle  in  Fnnch  and  German,  to 
dress  extravagantly,  to  talk  about  the  ''beaux,"  and 
to  despise  all  manner  of  household  duties.  The  son 
had  })rofited  lirst  by  the  ''glorious  free  schools"  to 
the  extent  of  being  able  to  stammer  tolerably  well 


tl 


iroiii 


:h   d 


ime     novels,    aiK 


d    of 


ic({uiring    vieions 


(> 


liai)its.  Then  lie  had  been  sent  to  a  mushroom 
university,  where  he  chewed  tobacco,  swore  great 
oaths,  frefpiented  low  haunts,  and  otherwise  im- 
proved his  mind  for  three  years.  At  the  expiration 
t'  that  period  he  laid  down  fifty  dollars,  and  picked 
up  a  parchment  dubbing  him  an  A.M.  The  '"  sec- 
ular schools"  of  the  United  States  have  produced 
many  such  families. 

The  young  ladies  had  been  looking  at  something 
which  they  pronounced  "awfully  nice,"  and  ''fear- 
fully pretty."  Desiring  to  know  more  about  it, 
they  endeavored  to  ask  the  custodian  its  history. 
Evidently  their  French  was  not  strong:  "Yous 
savoir  le  history  du  cette  ...  "  but  here  the  jargon 
failed.  Morgan,  seeing  their  difficulty,  kindly  came 
to  their  rescue. 

Mr.  Drew,  hearing  an  English  voice,  at  once  intro- 
duced himself  and  party,  llis  appreciation  of  fine 
arts  and  of  the  grandest  monuments  of  hunum 
genius  was  on  a  par  with  that  of  his  countryman 
"  Mark  Twain."  Doubtless  there  are  some  with 
whom  Mark's  vulgar  attempts  at  wit  in  "  Innocents 
Abroad  "  pass  for  gems  of  the  purest  water ;  but 
they  belong  to  the  class  of  Mr.  Drew. 

"What  a  tarnation  fine  shoe-factory  this  would 
3* 


c 

1 


08 


AFTKR   WEAUY    YEARS. 


make!  You  could  put  in  a  couple  more  lofts;  ram 
your  engine  in  that  nook  ;  cram  your  leather  here  ; 
stuff  your  slioes  round  there." 

Thus  spoke  Mr.  Drew,  as  he  gazed  around  the 
noble  edilice. 

"  Lawk,  Daniel,"  said  Mrs.  Drew,  "  you  are  always 
thinking  of  shoes.  Me  and  the  girls  thiidv  it  would 
be  just  the  go  for  a  surce^''  probably  soiree. 

"  Yes,  quite  ow  feet^''  said  the  elder ;  words  which 
Morgan  at  length  supposed  to  be  intended  for  au 
faiv. 

"  What  a  nice  cool  place  to  keep  the  rm  vine,''^ 
said  the  younger,  (Jernian  being  her  strong  point. 

''How  that  little  chaj)  is  skedaddling,^^  said  the 
heir  of  the  house  of  Drew,  as  he  pointed  to  an 
angeh 

Poor  Morgan  felt  it  useless  to  ])oint  out  the  beau- 
ties of  St.  Mark's  to  such  uncultured  minds.  With 
a  keen  sense  of  pity  for  such  animal  men,  of  whom 
the  United  States  can  boast  thousands,  he  got  out  of 
the  church  as  soon  as  possible,  closely  followed  by 
his  new-found  friends.  Next  mornifig  they  all 
started  for  Rome.  Mr,  Drew,  with  easy  famili- 
arity, asked  Morgan  his  object  in  going  to  the 
Eternal  City.  Wlien  told  that  it  was  to  fight  for 
the  Pope,  lie  "  guessed  it  was  quare  the  old  fellow 
could  not  do  his  own  lighting";  and  wished  to  know 
how  the  expected  trouble  had  been  brought  about. 
As  many  of  our  readers  may  wish  to  know  the  same 
thing,  we  will  tell  them  in  the  following  chapter. 


TIIK   OllIGIN   OF  THE  TROUHLE. 


59 


CllAPTEll  V. 


HOW  THE  TROUBLE  HAD  BEEN  BUOUGHT  AROl'T. 


Theke  is  soinetliiiijj  most  exliilariitinff  in  the  mo- 
tion  and  clatter  of  an  express  train.  To  be  whirled 
tliroiijLi^li  a  lovely  eoiintrj  at  the  rate  of  fifty  nnles 
an  hour;  to  feel  tlie  (juick  rush  of  a  balmy  atmos- 
})here  fannin*^  one's  brow ;  to  catch  fleetinij^ 
Ljlimpses  of  ruined  towers,  bold  mountain  ridges, 
and  glistening  lakes;  to  know  that  you  are  fast 
di'awing  near  your  journey's  end, — to  experience  all 
this  while  comfortably  seated  and  under  no  neces- 
sity of  driving  or  guiding,  is  surely  enough  to 
cheer  one's  spirits.  The  })ulse  is  quickened,  the 
lieart  beats  in  unison  witli  tlio  rattling  music  of  tlie 
wheels,  and  the  pLiy  of  thought  keeps  time  with 
the  rapid  change  of  scene. 

If  generals  were  to  bring  their  men  to  the  held 
of  battle  on  an  express  train,  they  would,  on  alight- 
ing, make  the  most  gallant  charge  ever  yet  wit- 
nessed. This  will,  doubtless,  be  part  of  the  tactics 
of  the  future.*  The  roar  of  cannon  will  be  drowned 
in  the  swelling  wave  of  sound  created  by  the  fierce 
rattle  of  advancing  wheels,  and  the  crackling  of 
musketry  be  elided  by  the  shrill  whistle  of  putting 
engines.  Krupp  cannon  will  be  preserved  in 
museums,  as  a  monument  of  a  clumsy  German  in- 
vention.    Englishmen  will,  like  their  remote  ances- 

*  It  has  been  done  since  the  above  was  written,  in  Egypt, 
two  or  three  years  ago. 


■iMi 


f 


I'     4 


60 


AFTKIt    WEARY    YKAK8. 


tors,  go  to  war  in  chariots,  hut  no  vuhicriil)le  liorses 
sliall  ho  yoked  tlicreto.  Tlio  scythes  of  the  early 
Hritons  will  he  succeeded  hy  electric  hatteries 
which  shall  discharije  artilicial  thuuderholts  into 
the  midst  of  a  terrified  enemy. 

In  the  L-reat  hattle  of  the  future,  1)V  which  a 
Catholic  JJritish  Empire,  comprising,  in  addition  to 
the  United  Kingdoms,  America  North  and  South, 
Germany,  Uussia,  and  India,  shall  be  iirmly  consoli- 
dated, and  the  (yhnrch  receive  her  greatest  worldly 
triumj)h,  the  English  strategist  will  employ  tactics 
similar  to  these  hercnn  foreshadowed.  Some  may 
smile  at  this  fancy,  hut  we  believe  in  a  mighty 
future  and  an  almost  universal  dominion  to  be  at- 
tained by  England  after  her  return  to  the  faith  of 
her  forefathers. 

Feelings  and  thoughts  akin  to  those  expressed 
above  were  experienced  by  Morgan,  as  he  sped 
from  Ancona  towards  Rome. 

It  was  late  in  November,  but  the  spirit  of  Sum- 
mer seemed  to  be  still  hoverini:;  in  the  air,  and  warm- 
ing  it  with  her  gentle  breath.  Summer  never  dies 
in  Italy  ;  she  sleeps  for  a  season  whilst  the  rains  de- 
scend ;  but  every  glancing  sunbeam  wakes  her  froui 
her  slumber,  and  she  smiles  over  the  valleys  in 
every  warm  gleam. 

The  verdure  was  fresh  and  green  ;  wild-ilowers 
were  growing  by  the  roadside,  and  many  species  of 
vegetables  were  flourishing  in  the  gardens.  Mor- 
gan, accustomed  to  the  cold  of  a  Canadian  Novem- 
ber, almost  fancied  that  he  had  fallen  asleep  some- 
where for  six  months,  and  that  it  was  now  May. 


THE   OUKJIN    OF   THE  TKOUHLE. 


61 


For  fionie  tiniu  hv  li:id  sat  gazing  out  at  the  coun- 
try through  wliich  they  were  passing  so  rapidly, 
wlien  Mr.  J)ruw  questioned  him  as  to  his  reasons 
for  going  to  Koine.  Tlien  he  wished  to  know  how 
the  expected  trouble  liad  been  brought  about. 

"It  is  a  lung  story,"  said  Morgan,  *' and  its  pri- 
mary cause  is  very  remote  ;  possibly  it  ndght  tire 
you  to  hoar  it  related." 

Mr.  JJrew  protested  that  lie  ••'  rayther  liked  a  long- 
spun, hifalutin  sort  of  o-ration,"  and  would  listen 
with  "  tarnation  pleasure." 

Having  said  this  he  spat  out  of  window  the  jel- 
lied products  of  half  a  "  l>lng"  of  Virginia,  and  as 
Morgan,  who  was  between  him  and  the  window, 
foreseeing  the  discharge  was  about  to  move,  he 
({uietly  said  :  "don't  niuoc,  1  i^iiasti  I'll  clear  you," 
and  true  to  his  word  shot  it  fairly  over  his  head  and 
out  into  the  harmless  air. 

Morgan  looked  aghast  at  this  novel  mode  by 
which  Mr.  Drew  avoided  distm'ljing  his  fellow- 
passengers.  That  gentleman  a])peared  to  enjoy  his 
surprise,  and  Mrs.  Drew  laughed  until  big  tear- 
drops coursed  down  her  Habby  cheeks.  When  she 
recovered  the  power  of  s])eech  she  said: 

That's  nothing,  thi<,t  ain't,  to  what  I  see  Daiuel 
doing  once  at  a  hotel  in  Nevada.  There  was  three 
lu  fellows  from  the  hills  smoking  in  the  bar,  and 
a  boasting  of  how  truly  they  could  squirt  into  the 
spittoon.  Daniel  he  walks  in  in  a  kind  of  careless 
way  and  sa  ,  'I  aint  much  in  the  smoking  Ihie 
myself,  but  I  guess  I  can  spit  about  as  true  as  any 
of  you.'     Then  the  barkeeper  he  gets  a  fly  and  pins 


itJ 


62 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


IE  J       I 
-i  ; 


it  to  the  wall.  He  marks  off  three  yards  and  tells 
them  to  toe  the  scratch.  The  man  as  spits  the 
widest  from  the  fly  the  most  times  out  of  three 
pays  for  the  drinks^  says  the  barkeeper.  One  tall 
miner  spits  first  and  hits  the  fly  twice.  The  next 
hits  oidy  once.  Tiien  comes  Daniel's  turn  ;  and 
winking  to  nie  (lauk,  how  I  hiui,died  !)  he  8te{)S  n[» 
to  the  mark,  and  standing  with  his  hands  behind  his 
back,  he  spits  three  times,  rpute  rapid  like,  and  hits 
the  fly  every  time." 

During  the  recital  of  this  feat  of  expectoral 
prowess,  which  will  show,  better  than  any  descri])- 
tion  of  ours,  the  unadoi'iied  vulgarity  of  the  Drews, 
Mr.  Drew  ha<l  taken  a  fresh  half  "  plug,"  put  his 
feet  up  higher  than  his  head,  and  drawn  a  small  cap 
partly  over  his  eyes.  Now  assuming  a  shrewd,  sus- 
l)iciou8  look,  he  said  :  '"  I  am  regularly  booked ; 
blaze  away  at  the  wjunr 

Taking  this  for  a  hint  to  begin,  Morgan  said  : 

"Ever  since  the  sin  in  Eden  there  has  been  a 
continual  fiij-ht  between  m)od  and  evil.  Like  two 
great  armies  drawn  up  in  battle  array,  the  hosts  of 
Satan  and  the  soldiers  of  the  Cross  confront  each 
other.  The  flght  rages  continually  ;  sometimes 
only  a  part  of  the  armies  are  engaged  ;  sometimes 
the  combat  is  general.  Satan  leads  the  onslaught 
against  the  good  ;  Christ  is  the  leader  of  the  just. 
Often  the  wicked  triumph  for  a  time,  and  the  vir- 
tuous arc  op})ressed." 

"15ut,"  interrupted  Mr.  Drew,  "  if  Christ  leads 
the  good,  why  don't  they  always  win  ?  Ain't  he 
GodV' 


i 


THE   ORIGIN    OF   THE  TKOITHLE. 


63 


i 


"  Truly  lie  is  God,"  replied  Morj^an  ;  "  i)nt  it  does 
not  enter  into  the  present  providence  of  God  to 
make  the  good  always  happy  and  prosperous  in  this 
world.  There  is  another  life  in  which  the  virtuous 
will  reign  triumphant;  there  will  he  a  day  of  final 
reckoning,  on  which  it  will  he  made  manifest  to  all 
how  much  hetter  it  was  to  he  afflicted  for  Christ  in 
tliis  world,  than  to  he  prosperous  under  Satan. 

"Ahel,  the  just,  fell  hy  the  hand  of  the  impious 
Cain;  the  chaste  Joseph  was  sold  into  slavery;  the 
Divine  Saviour  himself  was  cruelly  persecuted  ;  liis 
chosen  A})ostles  were  whippe<l  and  scourged. 
Christ  foretold  that  his  followers  would  have  to 
suffer  much  from  the  world,  hecause  they  were  not 
of  the  world,  and  that  nuiiiy  would  he  put  to  death 
for  his  name's  sake.  This  foreseen  and  foretold  per- 
secution of  the  servants  of  (/hrist  was  not  limited 
to  any  particular  age  or  i)lace.  It  would  be  horn 
with  the  religion  in  Jerusalem,  and  spring  up  side 
hy  side  with  it  in  other  lands.  Even  as  dai'k 
shadows  are  projected  hy  objects  in  the  glorious 
sunlight  and  .decrease,  or  grow  into  giant  propor- 
tions, so  the  shadow  of  persecution  ever  hovers 
lound  the  man  who  stands  in  the  full  blaze  of  the 
Gospel  light.  At  times  the  shade  is  small  and 
scarcely  noticed  ;  but  suddenly,  perhaj)s,  it  increases 
and  fjrows  black  like  a  huL'e  storm-cloud.  Prisons, 
as  gloomy  as  the  inky  vapors  about  to  descend  in  a 
torrent  of  rain,  are  prej)ared  for  the  faithful ;  or 
swords,  bright  and  keen  as  the  gleaming  streaks 
which  quiver  in  the  rift  of  the  thunder-cloud, 
cleave  their  dauntless  breasts;  or  wild  animals  roar 


WW 


if' 


64 


AFTER    WEARY    YEARS. 


!  f 


i 

r 


ing  like  the  angry  claps  of  thunder  are  let  loose 
against  their  defenceless  persons.  For  a  season  the 
storm  rages  against  the  Ciinrch:  a  few,  appalled  by 
the  horj'ible  din  and  murky  atmospliere,  fall  away 
from  the  valiant  raidvs ;  but  the  vast  majority, 
clothed  with  the  armor  of  Faith  and  protected  by 
the  helmet  of  Truth,  remain  faithful  to  their  stand- 
ard— the  Cross.  If  cut  down  in  the  fight,  they 
fondly  clasp  the  Cross  in  their  dying  arms,  and  press 
it  hopefully  to  tiieir  ))aling  lips.  The  blood  of 
nuirtyrs,  like  oil  cast  on  troubled  waters,  soon  calms 
the  tempest,  and  the  Church  once  more  stands  out 
uncon(|uered  and  unshaken,  witiiout  a  spot  or  a 
wrinkle  on  her  virgin  face. 

'""This  has  ever  been  the  history  of  the  Church. 
Founded  by  the  blood  of  CMirist, — watered  by  the 
blood  of  his  Aj)ostles, — spread  by  the  blood  of  mis- 
sionaries,— its  supernatural  beauty  is  never  more 
fully  manifested  than  during  fierce  persecutions. 
In  the  second  century  of  its  existence  Tertullian 
said  :  '  The  blood  of  martyrs  is  the  seed  of  Chris- 
tians'  ;  and  the  same  holds  good  in  our  own  day." 

''  1  opinionate  from  this,"  renuirked  Mr.  Drew, 
"  that  you  rayther  like  a  good  tall  light;  it  is  the 
steam  engine  of  your  great  overland  train." 

"We  do  not  fear  that  persecution  will  destroy  the 
Church,"  said  Morgan  ;  "  we  even  believe  that  it  will 
eventually  increase  her  sway;  still  we  do  not  court 
it, — we  ])ray  God  to  avert  it.  The  reason  is,  that 
nmny  are  weak,  and  may  give  way  in  time  of  trial. 
God  will  draw  good  out  of  the  malice  of  persecu- 


THE   ORIGIN    OF   THE   TROUHLE. 


65 


tors;  but  it  is  no  doctrine  of  the  Church  to  do  evil 
tliiit  good  may  thence  follow." 

Mr.  J)rew,  who  paid  that  concentrated  attention 
to  Morgan's  words  which  is  characteristic  of  the 
real  American,  said  :  • 

"We  hitch  up  otir  teams  here  pretty  close.  But 
tell  us  how  the  Pope  got  to  be  king.  Did  he  flare 
up  a  war  of  Independence?  If  so,  who  was  his 
George  Washington  V 

Morgan  could  scarcely  restrain  a  smile  ;  still,  since 
Mr.  Drew  was  attentive  and  desirous  of  information, 
he  thought  it  well  to  j)roceed. 

'•  The  temporal  Power  of  the  Popes,"  said  he,  "  was 
not  obtained  by  reljellion,  nor  i>y  a  war  of  conquest. 
The  Prince  of  the  Apostles  lixed  his  seat  in  Rome  ; 
it  was  then  the  caj)ital  of  a  vast  Em])ire.  From  this 
central  spot  the  rays  of  Divine  Faith  were  more 
oasily  dilfused  over  the  various  ])arts  of  the  State 
than  they  could  have  been  from  any  other  place. 

"For  three  centuries  the  blood  of  innumerable 
inartvrs  was  shed:  the  crimes  and  enoi'mities  of 
j)agan  Home  were  cleansed  by  thlc  stream  of  gore, 
(yhristianity  began  to  permeate  all  classes  of  society  ; 
the  city  became  ripe  for  a  Christian  Prince,  (rod 
disposes  everything  iirmly,  but  sweetly.  Constan- 
tino was  hailed  with  delight.  There  were  still  very 
Miany  pagans  in  Koine,  but  they  had  grown  accu^- 
tuined  to  the  Christians.  Just  as  educated  Protest- 
ants in  England  no  longer  believe  absurdities  about 
Catholics,  even  so  educated  pagans  in  the  time  of 
Coustantine.did  not  believe  that  the  Christians  were 
impious  sorcerers  or  witches. 


.  I :■ 


117 

1 1  '•■ 


66 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


-Jl!i 


"Constantine  felt  that  a  Pope  and  an  Emperor 
would  not  be  suitable  in  Eoine.  The  glory  of  the 
Pontifical  court  would  eclipse  that  of  the  Imperial. 
Hence  he  moved  his  seat  of  government  to  the 
banks  of  tlie  Bosphorus. 

"  Gradually  the  colossal  Empire,  like  every  pre- 
ceding kingdom,  began  to  decay.  Human  institu- 
tions have  not  the  property  of  immortality  ;  they 
are  the  offsprings  of  mortal  parents,  and  are  them- 
selves mortal.  Incursions  of  fierce  barbarians  shook 
rudely  the  tottering  State.  The  grand  march 
of  events  went-  quickly  onward,  and  numerous 
chang-es  were  effected.  Even  as  numv  kingdoms 
had  sprung  from  the  ashes  of  the  Macedonian  Em- 
pire, so  many  States  began  to  rise  from  the  dust  of 
the  Itoman.  Constantinople  became  powerless  at 
length  to  defend  its  Italian  subjects  from  the  devas- 
tating attacks  of  the  Northern  hordes.  It  tacitly 
relinquished  its  right  to  rule  Rome,  and  left  it  to 
consult  its  own  safety.  Now  in  every  community, 
as  in  every  man,  there  is  the  right  of  defence  against 
unjust  aggression  ;  and  in  every  community  there 
is,  independent  of  the  will  of  man,  by  Divine  ordi- 
nation, a  civil  power  which  is  to  provide  for  the 
temi)oral  good  of  that  community." 

"  But  I  opine,"  said  Mr.  Drew,  "  that  the  people 
give  the  power  to  rule.  No  darned  monarchy  for 
me ;  our  eagle  flies  over  a  free  people,  and  sticks  its 
claws  into  all  despots.  Is  not  the  })ower  of  our 
President  from  the  people?" 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Morgan.  "All  power 
is  from  God,     Man  cannot  give  to  another  what  he 


THE  ORIGIN   OF  THE  TROUBLE. 


67 


has  not  got  liimself.  But  no  niiiii  lias,  from  him- 
self, the  right  of  governing  himself  or  others; 
hence  he  cannot  give  it.  Where  no  one  has  a  pre- 
existing right  to  rule,  men  may  choose  by  vote 
one  who  is  to  become  the  organ  of  civil  power. 
But  this  is  not  conferring  authority  ;  it  is  only  desig- 
nating the  subject  that  is  to  exercise  a  Divinely 
given  power  for  the  common  good.  You  may 
choose  the  seed  which  you  plant;  you  may  select  it 
from  a  thousand,  still  vou  do  not  confer  on  it  the 
power  of  germinating.     It  is  God  who  does  that." 

"That's  Gospel,  choke  me!"  ejaculated  Mr. 
Drew.  "  Then  you  think  a  president  is  the  same  as 
a  king?" 

"As  regards  the  power  which  they  exercise,  cer- 
tainly ;  the  authority  of  each  is  from  God.  They 
were  made  the  subjects  of  that  power  l)y  different 
means,  and  they  hold  their  positions  under  different 
conditions,  but  in  their  quality  of  supreme  civil 
rulers  they  are  on  an  equal  footing.  Perliaps  you 
think  it  an  advantage  to  delude  yourselves  into  the 
belief  that  you  are  a  very  free  people  because  you 
are  supposed  to  elect  your  rulers;  for  my  part  I 
would  prefer  the  chance  of  having  a  suitable  man 
horn  and  educated  to  the  position.  You  do  not 
always  get  the  best  man  for  Piesident,"  rather 
maliciously  added  Morgan. 

"Gospel  again,  by  jemimy!  but  go  on  about  the 
Pope." 

"The  Romans,"  pursued  Morgan,  "being  l(;fr, 
without  a'  ruler,  turned  their  eyes  towards  the  Pope. 
In  him  they  saw  all   the  qualities  requisite  for  a 


w 


i 


1  :^ 

i.  ^ 

68 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


noble  prince.  Already  he  had,  as  the  spiritual 
head  of  the  Cliurch,  great  power  and  influence.  lie 
had  learning,  and  a  knowledge  of  affairs.  He  had 
no  faction  to  serve,  for  he  was  the  father  of  all ;  he 
would  be  just,  because  virtuous;  he  woukl  be  mild, 
l)ecause  tlie  Vicar  of  Him  who  was  meek  and  hum- 
ble of  heart.  On  more  than  one  occasion  previously 
the  Pope  had  saved  tlie  city  by  interceding  with  the 
invaders.  Moved  l)y  all  these  reasons,  and  more 
still  by  the  secret  dispensations  of  Providence,  the 
liomans  besought  the  Pope  to  be  their  civil  rulei*. 
He  accepted  the  post,  and  thus  peacefully  and  legit- 
imately became  a  temporal  king. ' 

"  Well,  that  explanation  rather  knocks  over  the 
apple-cart  of  some  of  our  editors.     Is  all  this  true  V 

"It  is,"  answered  Morgan,  *'and  any  conscien- 
tious student  of  history  will  admit  it. 

"  But  see  the  beautiful  designs  of  Providence. 
Before  there  were  anv  Christian  kingdoms  the 
Popes  did  not  require  a  temporal  power.  So  soon, 
however,  as  Christian  States  should  arise,  mutual 
jealousy  might  be  engendered  in  princes  if  the 
Pontiff,  who  had  to  rule  all  in  spiritual  matters, 
were  the  subject  of  any  earthly  ruler,  lie  was  to 
be  the  arbiter  of  disputes  in  the  Christian  common- 
wealth ;  but  to  be  above  the  sus])icion  of  partisan- 
ship, he  must  be  independent.  To  fearlessly  re- 
prove the  vices  of  kings  and  emperors,  to  freely  ex- 
ercise the  duties  of  his  exalted  office,  a  territorial 
independence  would  greatly  conduce.  Hence,  al- 
though God  could  in  other  ways  provide  for  the 
good  government  of  His  Church,  still  this  way  is 


THE   ORIGIN   OF  THE   TROUBLE. 


09 


most  suitable,  and  it  is  tlic  one  which  ITc  lias  chosen. 
Tlie  temporal  power  of  the  Popes  is  a  dispensation 
of  Providence  for  the  benefit  of  the  Christian  com- 
monwealth." 

"  If  all  our  ministers  and  editors  sav  about  the 
tyranny  and  ignorance  of  the  Popes  be  true,  T  rather 
guess  the  Pomans  got  done  up  brown  pretty  tall  by 
ijetting  them  for  kings,"  riiiietlv  remarked  Mr. 
Drew. 

For  a  moment  Morgan's  face  flushed  with  a  glow 
of  contempt ;  but  fpiickly  checking  this  feeling  he 
smiled  half  sadly,  and  made  answer: 

"  Your  observation  is  but  the  echo  of  the  old 
false  cry.  It  moves  to  sadness  to  find  in  many  gen- 
erous nntures  this  fossil  prejudice  against  Pome;  it 
gives  a  shock  like  the  <ligging  up  of  a  j)etrified 
toad  from  a  beautiful  stalagmite.  The  City  of  the 
Popes  did  not  send  forth  mailed  warriors  to  subju- 
gate the  world  to  its  civil  rule;  but  it  sent  forth 
learned  and  holy  men — heroes  of  Christian  virtue — 
to  announce  to  all  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation. 
The  heavenly  message  of  '  peace  on  earth  to  men 
of  good  will'  was  proclaimed  from  purified  temples 
and  fanes,  and  wafted  on  the  wings  of  Catholic  zeal 
to  the  four  corners  of  the  earth. 

"When  you  arrive  in  Pome  you  can  wend  your 
way  to  the  foot  of  the  Cielian  hill  and  see  the  mon- 
astery whence  issued  St,  Augustine  and  his  brethren 
bearing  light  and  civilization  to  England.  From 
the  tond)  of  St.  Peter  went  forth  missionaries  to  all 
the  nations  of  Europe  ;  and  not  oidy  to  all  parts  of 
Europe,  but  also  to  Asia  and  Africa.     And  when 


em 
m 


c 


m^ 


a 


iji 


i    '<       } 


70 


AFTER    WEAKY    YEARS. 


that  noble  pioneer  of  faith  and  tnie  progress,  Co- 
]nml)us,  liiid  discovered  a  new  world,  apostles  re- 
ceived from  the  successor  of  St.  Peter  commission 
and  power  to  bear  over  the  waters  of  the  Atlantic  a 
slip  from  God's  living  vine,  and  to  implant  it  on 
Columbia's  shores.  The  candid  admission  of  Guizot 
that  Europe  owes  all  her  culture,  all  lier  art,  and 
the  best  of  her  laws  to  Rome,  is  but  the  simple 
truth. 

"  Whilst  the  arts  and  sciences  were  driven  before 
the  Goth,  Vandal,  and  Ilun — whilst  Europe  was 
lighting  for  life  and  could  not  attend  to  them — they 
found  a  quiet  home  and  magnificent  patronage  near 
the  Popes.  Look  at  the  churches  and  buildings  of 
Rome;  examine  its  repositories  of  art;  read  the 
long  roll  of  eminent  men  who  received  almost 
kingly  honor  from  the  Pontifical  Court,  and  then 
say  whether  I  exaggerate.  Call  to  your  mind  the 
colleges,  universities,  and  academies  founded  and 
endowed  by  the  Popes;  think  on  tlie  numberless 
volumes  copied  and  j)reserved  at  their  instigation  ; 
glance  at  the  catalogue  of  great  writers  who  flour- 
ished under  the  fostering  care  of  the  Church,  and 
then  ask  yourself  what  are  the  spasmodic  etforts  of 
British  associations  and  of  infidel  professors  com- 
pared with  Rome's  unceasing  work? 

"  Or  if  you  look  for  that  grand  distinctive  mark 
which  was  to  characterize  the  followers  of  Christ, 
Charity,  wdiere  will  you  see  it  so  conspicuously  as  in 
the  hospitals  of  the  Eternal  City,  and  at  the  doors  of 
its  monasteries?  In  the  fever  wards,  by  the  bedside 
of  those  smitten  w'ith  small-pox  or  by  the  fearful 


^m 


THE  ORIGIN  OP  THE  TROUBLE. 


71 


cJioleia,  you  will  see  iu  attendance,  l)y  day  and 
night,  persons  of  both  sexes  delicately  reared,  who 
liave  consecrated  their  lives  to  God  for  the  nursing 
of  those  sick  ones.  Go  to  the  door  of  a  monastery 
and  you  will  find  men  of  great  parts,  men  highly 
cultured  and  refined,  serving  out  a  substantial  re- 
past to  the  halt,  the  blind,  and  the  infirm.  Knowing 
these  things,  is  it  any  wonder  that  we  should  be 
deeply  pained  at  hearing  the  stale  trash  of  smirking 
hypocrites  and  bigots  about  Rome's  ignorance  and 
cruelty  ?" 

"Wal,  yon  can't  blame  me  for  what  I  said;  I 
don't  set  up  for  a  scholar  in  them  things;  but  I  de- 
clare it  is  too  bad  to»  be  hocussed  so  completely  by 
them  as  ought  to  know." 

'•  You  are  right,"  said  Morgan  ;  "  I  am  well  aware 
that  a  vast  amount  of  silly  prejudice  is  due  to.  the 
bigotry  of  self  constituted  teachers.  You  spoke  of 
tyranny.  Now  look  at  this  historic  fact.  The  Jews 
were  pretty  badly  used  in  different  States  of  Europe. 
Indeed,  it  is  not  so  long  since  England  admitted  them 
to  Parliament.  In  this  respect  she  was  behind  my 
own  Catholic  Lower  Canada.  The  Popes,  whose 
tyranny  wife-beating  old  women  of  the  nuvle  sex 
bewail,  received  the  Jews  kindly,  allowed  them 
their  synagogue  in  Rome,  and  permitted  them  to 
have  a  magistrate  of  their  own  for  deciding  civil 
suits.  This  was  doi"^  in  what  those  who  are  ignorant 
of  history  call  the  'Dark  Ages,'  and  this  disposition 
remains  yet. 

"  Again,  whenever  a  king  or  an  emperor  en- 
croached on  the  liberties  of  his  people,  or  violated 


o 


m-'i 


72 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


Willi 


m 


i  m 


the  coTifititiition  of  liifi  State,  tlie  Pope,  wlien  in- 
voked, always  threw  his  great  power  on  tlic  side  of 
the  people.  In  the  many  struggles  between  the 
Church  and  tein})oral  rulers  we  never  find  the  sub- 
jects of  these  rulers  against  the  Pope.  It  is  never  a 
league  of  Po])e  and  king  against  the  people ;  it  is 
always  Pope  and  j)eo})le  against  a  licentious  or 
tyrannical  king.  This  clearly  proves  that  the  Popes 
always  sought  to  uphold  the  rights  of  individuals 
and  nations  against  the  aggressions  of  tyranny." 

"  Your  story  looks  pretty  straight,  but  you  have 
not  come  down  to  the  cause  of  the  present  danger." 

"  I  told  you,"  said  Morgan  smiliiig, "'  that  the  story 
was  long.  I  wished  you  to  have  a  true  idea  of  the 
origin  of  the  Pojie's  tem[)oral  power,  and  also  of  the 
Ijcnefits  conferred  by  Rome  on  Europe,  so  that  you 
might  fully  see  the  ingratitude  of  the  plotters  and 
the  justice  of  the  cause  of  those  who  are  going  to 
enlist  under  the  l)anner  of  Pius  IX. 

"The  Pope  is  the  liead  and  centre  of  Catholic 
Unity  ;  he  is,  likewise,  the  corner-stone  of  the  social 
state.  Every  intelligent  man,  be  he  Catholic,  Pro- 
testant, or  intidel,  fully  understands  that  the  Roman 
Pontiff  could  not  disappear  (were  such  a  contingency 
possible)  from  the  world  without  bringing  about  a 
total  upheaving  of  society.  This  social  cataclysm  is 
exactly  what  some  wish  to  effect.  A  wild  growth 
of  humanity,  unsoftened  by  religion  and  unawed  by 
law,  has  sprung  up  in  the  dark  lanes  of  every  large 
city.  Formerly,  owing  to  the  comparative  isolation 
of  kingdoms  and  towns,  these  lawless  bands  were 
kept  in  check  by  the  law-abiding  citizens.     Now, 


THE   ORIGIN    OF   THE   TROUBLE. 


73 


liowevcr,  that  godless  education  is  being  ]>r(>j>agated 
and  tlie  means  of  communication  multiplied,  a  bond 
of  impious  fraternity  has  been  established  between 
the  criminal  classes  of  eveiT  nation.  All  that  they 
know  of  civil  laws  is  that  they  will  be  punished  l)y 
them ;  their  knowledge  of  religion  is  limited  to  the 
certainty  that  it  would  impose  restraints  on  the 
gratification  of  theii'  passions.  Hence  they  look 
upon  law  and  religion  as  their  enemies,  and  band 
together  to  crush  them.  They  see  that  the  Catholic 
Church  is  the  great  bulwark  of  both  ;  they  know 
that  the  Pope  is  head  of  the  Church.  If  they  could 
smite  the  head  they  fancy  that  their  end  would  be 
gained.  Not  recognizing  that  the  Church  is  a 
Divine  institution  they  fondly  hope  to  succeed. 

"  It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  Satan  has  a  share 
in  this  work.  Even  as  he  stirred  the  pagan  em- 
perors up  to  persecution,  so  he  now  stirs  up  these 
corrupted  masses.  Seeing  that  unity  gives  a  great 
power  of  resistance  to  the  Church,  he  seeks  to  make 
an  infernal  travesty  of  it  among  the  secret  societies. 

"  The  revolutions  throughout  Europe  in  184S  were 
the  outcome  of  secret  machinations.  The  Pope  had 
to  leave  Rome  for  a  time,  but  Frauce,  with  all  her 
faults,  had  not  lost  her  love  for  Christ's  Vicar. 

"  Her  arms  restored  him.  Since  that  time  she  has 
kept  some  soldiers  in  his  territories ;  but  the  secret 
societies  have  not  been  idle.  They  set  themselves 
the  task  of  corrupting  the  youth  of  Italy.  Mem- 
bers of  the  impious  fratei'nity  wormed  themselves 
into  the  councils  of  princes,  into  chairs  in  the  uni- 
versities, and  into  the  ranks  of  the  clergy.     In  all 


em 


T 


74 


AFTKR   WEARY    YKARS. 


;;;  t: 


^1 


m 


thcficpositioiiR  the}'  began  disBcniiuating  their  princi- 
ples ;  they  ("orrnpted  the  Rource«  of  knowledge  and 
(ensnared  the  nnwary.  Througli  ail  these  artifices 
they  have  succeeded  in  making  some  proselytes; 
the  oidy  wonder  is  that  they  have  not  made  more. 
When  we  hear  of  the  many  Italians  (few,  however, 
in  comparison  with  the  virtuous)  who  are  leagued 
with  foreign  (■onimnniststo  assault  Rome,  we  ought 
to  bear  in  mind  the  long  years  of  artful  and  ])atient 
hd)or  of  the  emissaries  of  corruption. 

"Napoleon  is  about  to  withdraw  his  troops;  the 
infidel  revolutionists  are  jubilant ;  they  hope  to  stir 
up  a  revolt  in  Rome,  and  to  force  the  Pope  to  flee 
again.  To  frustrate  this  plot  Catholics  are  flocking 
to  enroll  under  the  banner  of  St.  Peter.  To  do  my 
share  of  the  glorious  duty  T  am  here." 

Having  now  arrived  at  Koligno  the  passengers  for 
Itome  changed  cars,  and  in  the  hurry  Morgan  was 
se})arated  from  his  new-found  friend  Mr.  Drew, 
lie  was  not  sorry  for  this.  Although  not  of  a  mo- 
rose disposition,  still  at  times  he  preferred  to  be 
left  to  his  own  musi'igs.  On  no  occasion  could  Mr. 
Drew  be  a  companion,  in  the  proper  sense  of  the 
word.  They  had  little  in  common :  Morgan  had 
kindly  endeavored  to  dissipate  the  cloud  of  preju- 
dice and  ignorance  which  overshadowed  him.  It 
was  a  good  seed  sown  whicli  might  fructify  here- 
after. 

The  train  sped  on,  and  soon  issued  from  the  defiles 
of  the  hills,  and  rattled  mei'rily  along  the  undulating 
Campagna.  Now,  as  it  swept  gracefully  round  the 
jutting  base  of  the  last  mountain  hill,  Morgan  fancied 


m 


THE   OKICHN    OP"   TIIK  TROIIBLE. 


75 


he  ouii^lit  Kiglit  of  .1  grove  in  wliicli,  here  ami  there, 
some  h>ftier  tree  raised  proudly  heavenward  its  nod- 
ding liead. 

Tlie  sun  was  Hearing  its  sliimmering  bed,  and 
sliot  bright  gleams  around  the  towering  ercsts  in  the 
visionary  forest.  As  Morgan  gazed  intently  towards 
them,  they  seemed  to  end  in  a  glittering  cross.  The 
sun  was  directly  in  front  of  the  advancing  train  and 
rendered  it  difficult  to  distinguish  objects. 

Gradually  it  sank ;  darkness  fell  upon  the  lower 
part  of  the  prospect ;  a  golden  beam  still  tipped  each 
lofty  lieight.  One  by  one  these  sparks  of  light  went 
out,  until  only  one  glowing  shaft  was  left.  So  high 
uprose  this  sunlit  trunk  that  Morgan  wondered  how 
one  tree  could  be  so  vei'y  much  taller  than  tlie  rest. 

At  this  momenta  traveller  looking  out  exclaimed  : 
"  Roma,  Ronui !  ecco  San  Pietro." 

With  a  strange,  wild  thrill  the  words  fell  on  Mor- 
gan's ear.  He  was  gazing  on  the  nuijestic  dome  of 
St.  Peter's,  still  brightly  glittering  long  after  every- 
thing around  had  been  sunk  in  darkness. 

Thus,  thought  he,  will  the  Church  of  Christ  shine 
ill  the  sunset  of  the  world's  allotted  span,  when  the 
institutions  of  men  and  the  vain  efforts  of  the  im- 
pious shall  have  been  long  buried  in  the  murky  past. 

Thus,  O  Rome,  City  of  the  Soul,  will  the  failing 
sun  form  an  aureole  of  glory  around  tliy  brow,  mak- 
ing thy  old  age  as  beautiful  as  thy  youth  1 


It '? 


76 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


CHAPTER  YI. 


THE   FEAST   OF    ST.    AGNES. 


1}  i^e^i 


The  plcasure-soelving  tourist  wlio,  on  a  briglit 
winter's  morning,  canters  gaily  along  the  Nomen- 
tana  Way,  to  enjoy  the  pure  n'aiintain  air  which 
conies  cool  but  soft  from  the  snow-clad  Sabine  hills, 
and  to  feast  his  eyes  Cii  the  rich  and  variegated 
scenery  of  undulating  plains,  gently  sloping  hills 
dying  imperceptibly  away  into  sunny  valleys,  and 
stei-n  mountain-peaks  coldly  frowning  like  grim 
sentinels  posted  there  by  nature — or  the  dreaming 
poet  who  escajies  from  the  confined  air  of  the  Eter- 
nal City,  and  seeks  inspiration  for  his  epic  poem  by 
contemplating  the  classic  scenes  of  ancient  Rome, 
might  pass  unheedingly  by  the  spot  to  which  we 
will  soon  introduce  our  readers.  Still,  what  a  sub- 
ject for  sober  refiection,  what  a  noble  argument  for 
the  Christian  muse  would  not  this  place  supply  ! 
The  duties  which  as  rational  beings  we  owe  to  our 
Creator,  the  ennobling  use  of  time  and  talents,  the 
most  heroic  examples  of  praiseworthy  devotion,  love, 
and  sublime  fortitude, — these  are  tlie  lessons  which 
might  be  learned  from  the  story  of  the  broken  and 
weed-covered  walls  of  the  ancient  Iloman  villa  to 
which  our  story  leads  us.  Fain  would  we  linger 
over  the  details  of  its  history ;  fain  would  we  desire 
to  give  some  adequate  account  of  the  short  life  and 


iiJ:.: 


THE   FEAST   OF   ST.    AGNES, 


77 


r 


iijlorioiis  (Icatli  of  t.lie  List  mistress  of  that  villa.  It 
is  equally  bevoiid  our  present  scope  and  the  power  of 
our  pen  to  do  this  ;  still,  a  few  words  arc  necessary. 
Every  one  who  has  read  the  acts  of  tlie  martyrs 
must  experience  a  thrill  of  deep  emotion  whenever 
lie  hears  the  name  of  8t.  Aii;nes.  So  young,  so 
beautiful,  so  filled  with  generous  love  for  God,  she 
seems  more  like  unto  a  happy  spirit  that  had  been 
sent  on  a  heaven Iv  mission  to  this  world,  than  a 
\m\\iZ  ot  mortal  mould.  The  dauij^liter  of  wealtliv 
and  Christian  parents,  she  disengaged  her  youn< 
heart  from  earthly  things,  and  gave  to  her  Saviour 
;ill  her  love.  Flattered  by  man,  she  despised  the 
soft  iarji-on,  and  onlv  thou£!:ht  how  she   could    best 

.10'  u  O 

please,  in  every  action,  the  Almighty.  Surrounded 
by  an  atmosphere  of  pagan  corruption,  she  remained 
spotless  ;  her  soul,  like  a  sweet  lily  growing  in  a 
marshy  soil,  hemmed  itself  round  with  the  fragrance 
of  its  own  })urity.  Thus  she  showed  how  virtue 
can  be  practised,  110  matter  what  unsought  tempta- 
tions may  assail  us.  Asked  in  marriage  by  a  power- 
ful personage,  she  refused,  for  already  she  had 
given  herself  as  the  spouse  of  Christ.  She  did  not 
consider,  of  course,  that  marriage  was  wrong;  she 
knew  it  was  the  state  of  life  intended  for  most  per- 
sons ;  she  knew  that  Christ  had  raised  it  in  his 
Church  to  the  diirnity  of  a  sacrament :  but  slie 
likewise  knew  from  the  example  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  and  from  the  teachings  of  St,  Paul,  that 
celibacy  was  a  much  more  perfect  state.  She  fell 
that  to  her  it  had  been  ffiven  to  lead  in  the  flesh  the 
life  of  an  angel ;  and  she  thanked  Crod  that  he  hud 


0mm 


ut^'i 


78 


AFTER    WEARY    YEARS. 


chosen  lier  to  Ijc  one  of  tli;it.  white-rohcd  choir  who 
will  follow,  for  all  eternity,  tlie  "  Lamb  whitherso- 
ever lie  goeth.'"  Hence  she  looked  upon  her  suitor 
as  the  "  food  of  corruption,"  and  tohl  liini  that  she 
was  betrotlied  to  "  Ilim  wljom  aui^cls  serve;  whose 
beauty  the  sun  and  moon  admire;  loving  Him  I  am 
chaste;  embracing  Him  I  am  pure;  espousing  Him 
r  am  a  virijin."  This  sublime  lani^uau-e  will  fall 
strangely  on  the  ears  of  very  many  ;  by  some  it  will 
be  turned  into  ridicule,  by  others  it  will  be  called 
contrary  to  the  order  of  nature  (as  if  celibacy  were 
not  highly  eulogized  \u  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and 
recommended  to  those  who  had  the  grace  of  contin- 
nence).  Modern  young  ladies  whose  sense  of  wom- 
anly delicacy  ib  not  startled  by  being  frequently,  and 
for  long  hours,  alone  with  that  most  useless  and  unin- 
teresting of  the  human  species,  a  moon-struck  lover, 
— young  ladies  who  have  had  day-dreams  of  mati-i- 
mony  while  yet  in  sliort  clothes,  and  carried,  per- 
haps, their  school-books  in  a  coquettish  nianner,  will 
be  unable  to  realize  the  ennobling  feelings  of  St. 
Agnes.  Let  the  reader  bear  well  in  mind  that  the 
Saints  were  of  the  same  frail  mould  as  ourselves ; 
they  were  not,  as  a  general  rule,  exempt  from  tierce 
temptation  ;  their  human  passions  were  not  extinct, 
but  smouldered  hotly,  and  were  only  kept  from 
bursting  forth  into  a  Hame  by  unceasing  prayer, 
mortification,  and  watchfulness.  Uod  requires  rude 
tests  of  our  love,  just  as  he  gave  rude  tests  of  II is 
love  for  us.  If  we  wish  to  reign  triunq)hant  with 
Ilim  in  his  glory,  we  must  first  })artake  of  the  igno- 
miny and  suffering  of  the  Cross. 


When 
eiiitor  he 
cased  her 
irood   deal 
with  the  } 
has  his  coi 
may  bo  d 
Si.   /  .;iies 
c:iii  suffer 
to  the  clo 
Calmly  si 
though  m 
aiid  threat 
.-tancy       i 
gods,  slie 
there,   stai 
sacrifices, 
for  her  blo' 
in  the  forn 
God.     Tiic 
the  most  f( 
«»ne  a,s  St. 
house  of  ii 
the  though 
moment  of 
•*  Why  not 
ster,    and 
mighty  int 
heluved  A< 
like  the  re: 
s|>read  hei 
said  :    "  I  ] 


riTK    FEAST    OK   ST.    AGNK8. 


79 


When  St.  Agues  spurned  tlic  love  of  a  worldly 
i^iiitor  lie  hecanie  enraf:;ed,  and,  hcintf;  a  pagan,  ac- 
cused her  to  the  judges  of  heing  a  ('hristiau.  A 
ii:ood  deal  of  meanness  and  pride  was  mixed  u\^ 
with  the  professed  love  of  this  suitor;  perhaps  he 
lias  his  coujiter})art  often  in  our  own  days.  Ye  who 
may  1»*^  disposed  to  make  light  of  the  words  of 
Si.  Agnes  to  her  would-he  lover,  and  ye  also  who 
can  suffer  nothing  for  the  religion  of  Christ,  attend 
to  the  elosinir  scenes  of  the  life  of  this  lovelv  urirL 
Calmly  she  b;ood  before  the  judges,  and  iirinly, 
though  mildly,  she  professed  her  faith.  Promises 
and  threats  wei'e  alike  unable  to  shake  her  con- 
ptaney,  I's-rne  by  force  to  the  altars  of  the  false 
irods,  siie  .efused  to  do  them  homaji'e ;  but  even 
there,  standing  by  the  flames  that  consumed  the 
sacrifices,  surrounded  by  angry  crowds  that  thirsted 
for  her  blood,  the  noble  girl  strcitched  forth  her  arms 
in  the  form  of  a  cross,  and  spoke  aloud  her  faith  in 
(lod.  The  malice  of  Satan  suggested  to  the  judge 
the  most  fearful  threat  that  could  be  nuuhi  to  such  a 
one  as  St.  Aijnes:  he  threatened  to  send  her  to  a 
house  of  infamy.  (Ireat  God  !  the  blood  curdles  at 
the  thought  of  the  impious  threat,  and  in  the  first 
moment  of  indignation  we  are  tempted  to  cry  out: 
"Why  not,  O  God,  strike  tlead  the  inhuman  mon- 
ster, and  free  thy  handmaiden  f'  Ihit  the  Al- 
mighty intended  to  be  still  further  gloi'ified  in  his 
heluved  Agnes.  At  the  sound  of  this  threat  a  flush, 
like  the  reflection  of  a  rosebu<l  cast  on  a  lily,  (»ver- 
spread  her  face,  but  the  next  moment  she  quietly 
said :    "  I  have  with  me  an  Angel  of  tlie  Lord  who 


VsM 

{'I 


80 


AFTER   WP:AUY    YEARS. 


i^uards  iriy  body."  Curried  to  tlie  dcii  of  inicjuity, 
lier  pure  presence  cliuuged  it  into  ;i  place  of  prayer; 
even  as  a  burning  grain  of  fraidvincense  dissipates 
tlie  noxious  vapors  of  a  sick-room,  so  did  tlie  heav- 
enly odor  of  her  purity  cleanse  the  public  brothel. 
Hearts  loni»:  dead  to  every  sense  of  shame  were 
melted,  lips  that  never  uttered  anglit  save  curses 
sought  to  form  a  prayer.  In  that  very  spot  there 
has  for  long  centuries  stood  a  beautiful  church,  a 
monumental  proof  of  this  glorious  triumph. 

Back  to  the  judge  was,  at  length,  brought  the  in- 
nocent girl.  No  need  for  her  to  hang  her  head,  or 
to  blush.  To  use  her  own  beautiful  words,  by  God's 
grace  she  "  had  escaped  the  threats  of  the  sacrileg- 
ious tyrant,  and  with  an  unpolluted  heel  had  tram- 
pled on  the  filth  of  the  flesh."  She  was  condemned 
to  be  belieaded,  and  was  manacled  pre})aratoi'y  to 
being  led  forth.  But  the  slight,  girlish  hands  were 
too  small  for  the  cruel  bracelets,  and  she  playfully 
shook  them  off.  More  joyfully  did  she  proceed  to 
the  place  of  torture  than  did  ever  a  victorious  gen- 
eral tread  the  Triumphant  AVay.  It  was  the  road 
to  heaven ;  it  was  but  a  few  steps,  and  then  she 
M'ould  see  face  to  face  her  eternal  Spouse.  The 
cruel  spectators  were  softened  at  the  sight  of  her, 
in  the  first  flush  and  glow  of  life  so  ready  to  lay 
it  down.  They  wept ;  she  alone  rejoiced.  The 
headsman,  whose  eyes  had  long  been  as  arid  at  the 
sight  of  human  sufferins:  as  a  dried  and  broken  foun- 
tain,  shed  tears  of  compassion,  and  vainly  endeav- 
ored to  induce  her  to  do  the  bidding  of  the  judge, 
— viz :  to  sacrifice  to  the  idols,    Iler  outer  ffarmeuts 


THE    FEAST    OF    vST.    AflNES. 


81 


were  removed,  ;iiu]  tlion  Jier  loiii'  iifolden  hair 
Htrcained  down  around  her  I'ody,  enveloping  her 
as  with  a  glistening  eloud.  <  )!k;  moment  she  stood 
in  silent  ])rayer,  while  an  oppressive  stillness  reigned 
among  tlie  crowd  ;  tlieii  saying,  "  Perish  the  body 
that  can  be  loved  by  eyes  that  I  wish  not,"  slie  bent 
her  slender  neck  to  receive  the  death-stroke.  The 
headsman  trend>led  ;  many  a  cheek  grew  pale  that 
hlanched  not  in  battle,  and  a  sn})pressed  murmur  of 
agony  ran  through  the  multitude.  The  golden  hair 
parted  slightly,  and  fell  on  each  side  of  her  bent 
neck,  which  whitely  gleamed  like  a  mooid)eam 
throuii;h  the  rift  of  a  vellow  cloud.  As  she  knelt 
thus  tlie  executioner  I'aised  his  axe;  it  glittered  for 
an  instant  in  the  air,  and  ere  it  had  reached  tlie  earth 
the  soul  of  Agnes  was  with  her  God.  In  a  beauti- 
ful church  in  her  own  suburban  villa  her  saintly 
bones  are  resting,  awaiting  the  angel's  trumpet;  her 
shrine  claims  the  re6})ect  and  devotion  of  every  gen- 
erous soul,  and  her  example  will  shine  to  the  end  of 
all  centuries. 

It  is  to  this  pleasing  relic  of  earlv  Christian  Rome 
that  we  will  take  our  readers.  It  is  the  21st  Jan- 
uary, 1867;  this  is  the  day  on  which  the  Church 
celebrates  the  Feast  of  St.  Agnes.  It  is  always,  at 
least  so  far  as  observation  during  numy  years  can 
prove,  a  clear,  cheerful  day.  Although  about  the 
middle  of  the  short  Koman  winter,  it  is  mild  and 
genial.  A  slight  hoar-frost  has  made  the  ground 
crispy  and  the  air  bracing.  The  sun  has  risen  in 
unclouded  splendor,  and  a  bright  tranquillity  reigns 
around,  as  if  the  gentle  spirit  of  Agnes  were  hovcr- 
4* 


n 


82 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


ing  in  tlie  air  and  filling  it  witli  a  balm  from  heaven. 
Passinji;  out  by  the  "  J*orta  Pia,""  we  tread  tlie  well- 
paved  Nomentana  Way  ;  lier  by  lawns  ajid  grassy 
mounds  are  checkered  in  the  sunliLdit.  Shenliei'd 
boys,  picturesquely  clad  in  sheepskin  jackets,  red 
flannel  vests,  dark  trousei's  and  strong  leggings,  tend 
their  bleating  flocks,  nincli  after  the  same  fashion 
as  did  their  far-oif  ancestor  Romulus.  IJght-hearted 
peasants  in  parti-colored  dresses  are  ui)lurning  the 
mellow  soil  of  tlio  vineyards,  or  hilling  the  cavoli 
and  broccoli  which  are  now  tlonrishing.  The  sinu 
ous  Tiber,  just  increased  by  the  watei-s  of  the  Anio, 
flows  swiftly  through  the  outstretched  plain,  bear- 
inic  from  its  mountain  sources  old-fashioned  barges 
laden  with  elm-wood  ;  from  tliis  is  made  the  char- 
coal so  much  used  in  Uinne. 

Away  in  the  Northeastern  horizon  lies,  in  rugged 
grandeur,  the  chain  of  Sabine  hills  from  whose 
recesses,  as  legends  have  it,  Romulus  and  his  daring 
companions  bore  oil*  their  shrieking  brides.  Per- 
haps by  this  very  road  they  re-entered  the  newly 
founded  city  ;  perhaps  at  this  point  they  paused  to 
defend  themselves  against  their  pursuers.  Be  this 
as  it  may,  the  traveller  now  needs  have  no  appre- 
hension of  meeting  with  such  a  band  of  club-armed 
warriors,  lie  will  pass  a  few  Capucliin  monks, 
whose  coarse  garb,  shorn  heads,  and  sandalled  feet 
bespeak  a  total  inditTerence  to  aught  save  holy  con 
templatiun  and  the  obligations  of  charity;  silently 
telling  their  well-thund)ed  beads  they  look  as  happy 
as  innocence  of  life  and  duties  fuliilled  can  make 
one  in  this  world.    lie  will  see  a  number  of  students 


THE    FEAST   OF    ST.    AGNES. 


83 


of  every  nation,  and  will  hear  evei-y  iaiii;iiai;'e  iVtmi 
Kiif^lisii  to  (Jliinese.  He  may  reflect  tliat  tlie  fore- 
fatliers  of  tliese  youtlis  were  perhaps  hronght  cap- 
tive to  ancient  Itonie  to  fi^race  a  conqueror's  char- 
iot; and  that  tliese  their  descendants,  captivated 
by  the  intellectual  power  of  Christian  Rome,  fol- 
lowed, but  under  liapj)ier  auspi(;es,  the  footsteps  of 
their  sires.  Verily  Ttoine  will  ever  draw  to  her 
classic  bosom  enchained  yet  free  and  jVnous  bands, 
lie  may  see  the  rich  cari-iages  of  tlie  wealthy  and 
creakint^  cars  of  rude  design,  drawn  by  oxen  whose 
hranchini^:  horns  arc  often  brouirht  in  threateninir 
proximity  to  his  pei'son.  Ever  and  anon  a  gilded 
coach  of  some  prince  of  the  Church  will  flash  past, 
and  add  a  new  feature  to  the  varied  scene. 

About  a  mile  and  a  half  from  "  Porta  Pia"  stands 
the  (/hurch  of  St.  Agnes:  it  is  to  tliis  sj)ot  that  all 
are  tending.  The  floor  of  this  sacred  ediflce,  like 
that  of  manv  ancient  ones  in  Rome,  is  several  feet 
below  the  level  of  the  ground.  I'y  a  door  near  the 
southern  corner  you  enter,  and  descend  a  long  and 
gently  sloping  flight  of  marble  steps.  They  land  on 
the  floor  of  the  chui'ch.  You  now  And  yourself  in 
a  beautiful  little  basilica,  decorated  with  that  good 
taste  which  subdues  and  renders  delightful  ))r()fuso 
ornamentation.  One  false  shade  of  coloring,  one 
inartistic  carving,  one  badly  matched  panelling, 
would  mar  the  whole.  In  our  experience  Italian 
churches  are  the  only  ones  in  which  profuse  decora- 
tion is  a  success.  The  hiijh  altar  stands  in  the 
centre  of  the  transept,. and  beneath  it  rest  the  relics 
of  the  *!'entle  Amies.     A  beautiful  gilt  flgure  of  her 


84 


AKTKK    WKAKY   YEARS. 


stands  on  tlio  altar ;  iiuineroiis  lights  in  rusc-tinted 
glasses  burn  constantly  near,  giving  a  cliastened  ray 
like  the  How  of  her  virtues.  Cut  in  a  marble  slab 
less  than  a  century  after  her  death,  are  the  following 
verses  by  Pope  Daniasus  : 


r!Ii^» 


ml 

W3 


"  Fama  refert  sanctos  dudum  retulisse  parentes 
Agnun,  cum  lugubres  cantus  tuba  concrepuisset, 
Nutricis  gremiuiu  subilo  liquisse  puollam, 
Sponte  trucis  calcasse  minas  nibieinquc  tyranui. 
Urero  cum  flumiiiis  voluisset  uobilc  corpus 
Viribus  immensuni  parvis  superassc  linioreni; 
Nudaque  i)r()fusuni  crineni  per  membra  dedisse 
Nu  Domiui  leniphun  facies  pcritura  viduret. 
O  Veueranda  iiiibi,  sauctum  docus,  ahna  pudoris 
Ut  Damasi  precibus  faveas,  precor,  inclyta  martyr." 

For  the  benefit  of  those  who  are  not  Latin  schol- 
ars, the  following  translation  is  offered  :  "  It  is  said 
that  once  on  a  time,  when  the  pious  parents  of 
Agnes  were  bringing  her  home,  and  whilst  the 
trumpets  were  giving  forth  mournful  strains,  the 
young  girl  quickly  left  her  nurse's  arms,  and  of  lier 
own  accord  braved  the  threats  and  the  rage  of  the 
cruel  tyrant.  When  he  wished  to  burn  her  noble 
person,  she  overcame  by  her  childish  courage  the 
immense  fear  of  this  threat ,'  and  that  her  flowing 
hair  fell  profusely  around  her  form,  so  that  mortal 
eyes  might  not  gaze  upon  the  temple  of  the  Lord.  O 
holy  beaut}' !  O  soul  of  purity  so  venerated  by  me ! 
I  pray  thee  O  glorious  martj'r,  that  thou  mayest  be 
favorable  to  the  prayers  of  Damasus." 

We  can  learn  from  this  inscription  how  the  glory 
of  the  lovely  Agnes  shone  in  the  ear^y  Churchj  and 


THE   FEAST   OF   ST.    A«NES. 


85 


also  liow  the  first  Cliristijms  invoked  the  prayers  of 
the  saints.  If  we  jwdiije  the  power  of  a  cause  \)y 
tlie  effects  it  ])roduces,  we  must,  wlieii  contein[)Iat- 
iiig  this  beautiful  soul,  form  an  exalted  idea  of  the 
living  power  of  grace  and  faith  which  vivifies  the 
Holy  Roman  C/hurch.  Christian  maidens!  keep  the 
image  of  St.  Agnes  ever  before  you  ;  she  is  a  noble 
type  of  womaid\ind,  the  noblest  after  the  IJlessed 
Viricin.  She  is  not  the  ideal  creation  of  some 
novelist's  clever  brain  ;  she  is  the  real  work  of  Divine 
faith  and  grace.  That  faith  still  glows  as  brightly 
as  ever  in  llolv  Church,  and  that  ij^race  still  flows  as 
stroncjly  as  ever  throuich  its  Divinclv  constituted 
channels,  the  Sacraments.  AVhat  is  to  prevent  you 
from  trampling  "  with  unpolluted  heel  the  filth  of 
the  flesh  "  ? 

The  Church  of  St.  Agnes  was  soon  crowded  with 
persons  of  all  ranks  and  stations  :  there  is  no  aristo- 
cracy of  faith.  The  feast  of  a  saint  is  a  lumily  one 
common  to  all  the  faithful,  for  are  we  not  tlie  "  fel- 
low-citizens of  the  saints,  and  the  domestics  of 
God."  The  tillw  of  the  soil,  the  shepherd,  the 
merchant,  the  nobleman — aye,  and  princes  loo, 
are  kneelinir  in  the  same  line,  and  aduressino-  their 
prayers  to  the  same  God.  Clad  in  gorgeous  vest- 
ments a  cardinal  is  celebrating  mass  at  the  shrine  of 
Agnes.  The  altar  and  sanctuary  glow  with  innu- 
merable lights  from  silver  lamps  and  glittering 
chandeliers.  Choice  flowers  in  rare  old  Etruscan 
vases  scent  the  atmosphere  with  a  delicious  balm. 
Subdued  strains  of  solemn  music  come  floating 
gently  down,  like  the  whisperings  of  angels,  from 


86 


AFTKIi    VVKAKY    YKAKS. 


I'll  in 


tlie  distant  clioir.  "  Johus,  Crown  of  Viri^ins,"  Ik 
tlie  hurdoFi  of  tlio  soiii::.  Uii.ys  of  siiiilii:;lit  steal  softly 
in  through  stainod-i^Iass  windows;  they  sparkle 
hriijjiitly  on  gilded  crosses,  silver  reliquaries  and 
crystal  sconces;  tliey  j)lay  with  dancing  motion 
around  the  graceful  pillars  of  the  nave,  and  laugh- 
ingly hide  in  the  recesses  of  the  fretted  vaults.  As 
the  solemn  moment  of  consecration  appi'«ja(;hes  every 
sound  is  hushed  ;  one  can  scar(;ely  realize  how  so 
many  thousand  persons  (!;in  he  so  still.  The  one 
ahsorhing  thought  that  desus  is  ahout  to  descend  on 
thealtar  -  that  the  sacrifice  of  (^^dvarv  is  ahout  to  he 
repeated  in  an  uid)loody  mannei',  holds  all  hearts 
entranced.  Theie  is  a  vivid  reality  of  devotion  pic- 
tured on  every  downcast  face;  many,  perhaps,  of 
them  may  he  careless  or  sinful  livers;  still  the 
teachings  cd'  faith  speak  to  their  hearts  now,  and 
stir  ui)  within  them  manv  a  i:;ood  resolution.  How 
often  may  the  hlessing  of  a  holy  death  be  traced  to 
the  sweet  iniluence  of  grace  falling  on  the  heart  at 
such  a  moment  as  this.  Now  it  can  be  felt  that 
reliijion  is  not  a  mere  sentiment  of  maudlin  affec- 
tion  ;  but  that  it  is  a  supernatural  element  engrafted 
on  the  soul.  The  cold  forms  of  worship  of  those 
outside  the  Church  can  never  bring  about  such  a 
picture  of  real  adoration.  Love  is  the  electric  cur- 
rent which  circulates  throngh  every  fibre  of  the 
prostrate  multitude  as  the  sacred  IJost  is  elevated  ; 
love,  which  is  kindled  into  a  blaze  by  the  Real  Pres- 
ence of  its  lieavenly  soiirce.  Such  an  air  of  lieavcn 
haui^s  over  the  adoring  congregation  that  one  forijets 
for  the  time  all  meaner  thoughts;   the  cares   and 


THK   FEAST   OF   ST.    A  (INKS. 


87 


trials  of  life  vaiiiish  before  the  i;entle  iiiHueiiee  of 
the  place,  like  the  shadow  of  iiii^iit  chased  hy  a  suii- 
heani.  Happy  those  souls  who  carry  out  with  them 
to  their  everyday  duties  souie  few  drops  of  the 
heavenly  dew  whi(;h  falls  at  such  times  so  ahuii- 
(iantly  on  their  hearts. 

Morgan  Jiealiy  had  often  assisted  at  sulenin  func- 
tion in  the  imposing  (;hurch  .<jf  Notre  Dame  in 
Montreal,  hut  never  before  had  he  been  so  mu(di 
touched.  He  wns  j»resent,  dressed  in  a  militaiy 
ludform.  Often  had  he  read  of  St.  Agnes,  and 
often  had  he  shed  sweet  tears  over  (cardinal  Wise- 
man's almost  ins[)ired  des(!ription  of  her  in  '.'  Fabiola." 
To  he  now  praying  before  her  shrine,  to  be  kneel- 
ing on  the  spot  ovei'  which,  in  the  innocent  sport 
of  her  childhood,  she  ha<l  often  gambolled;  to  be 
reverently  looking  on  the  sacred  relics,  while  all  the 
surroundings  were  so  gorgeous,  was  of  itself  enough 
to  stir  up  liis  deej)est  emotions.  But  he  had  another 
motive  to  move  him  ;  he  had  come  to  Home  to  un- 
slieath  the  sword  in  defence  of  the  rights  of  Holy 
Cliurch  ;  for  love  of  the  faith  Agnes  had  died,  and 
for  love  of  the  faith  he  was  ready  to  risk  his  life. 
Every  good  deed  generously  performed  brings  an 
inward  pleasure  unattainable  in  any  other  way;  do 
any  small  action  of  charity  purely  for  the  love  of 
God  and  see  what  a  soothing  feeling  will  take  pos- 
session of  your  soul.  The  remembrance  of  one  such 
moment  is  enough  to  cheer  a  heart  'mid  many  a 
dreary  sorrow.  Morgan  was  now  enjoying  this 
s[)iritual  luxury  of  feeling  in  reward  for  his  braver\ 
ill  having  left  his  pleasant  Canadian  home  to  battle 


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88 


AFTER   WEAUY    YEA  US. 


for  tlie  Pontifical  cause.  Devoutly  he  prayed  dur- 
ing mass,  and  with  fervor  ho  chose  St.  Agnes  fo)- 
his  patroness. 

After  mass  two  youii^  lambs  were  blessed  on  the 
altar.     Morgan   was  at  first  at  a  loss  to  know  why 
this   was   done,   but   soon  learned    that   it  was  an 
ancient  custom,  and  that  after  these  lambs  grew  up 
tlieir    wool    would    be  used  to  make  the  palliunis 
given  by  the  Pope  to  Archbishops.     At  length  the 
sacr»3d   ceremonies  were   brought  to   a   close ;    the 
congregation   dwindled   raj)idly  away.     A  few  de- 
vout v/orshippers  still  lingered  to  say  a  last  prayer 
and  to  ask  a  last  favor.     The  waxen  tapers  were 
extinguished,  and  the  straine  of  music  were  hushed. 
Outside   the   church    many   wandered    round    the 
monastery  attached  to  the  churcli,  and  strayed  mus- 
ingly over  the  enclosure  of  the  ancient  villa.    There 
is  not  that  sadness  and  desolation  hovering  around 
these  broken  walls  such  as  one  feels  so  acutely  when 
visiting  other  ruins.     Here  is  brig\it   hope ;    here 
the  calm  assurance  of  being  still  united  by  the  holy 
bond  of  Communion  of  Saints  with  the  fair  young 
mistress  of  the  place.     She  is  indeed  dead,  and  the 
once  magnificent  patrician  palace  of  her  ancestors 
has  crumbled  away ;  but  her  spirit  lives  with  God 
and  is  joined  to  us  by  a  link  of  charity ;  and  over 
the  ruins  of  pagan  work  Christian  art  has  raised  a 
beautiful  temple  to  the  living  God.     Not  far  from 
the  church  stands  an  oratory  of  circular  form  raised 
by  Constantia,  the  daughter  of  Constantine.     This 
princess  had  come  to  pray  at  the  tomb  of  Agnes, 
and  to  ask  a  restoration  to  health.     St.  Agnes  ob- 


THE   FEAST   OF  ST.   AGNES. 


89 


tiiined  the  grace  from  God,  and  in  pious  tlianksgiv- 
ing  Constantia  built  this  oratory. 

When  Morgan  emerged  from  the  cliurch  he  was 
joined  by  a  young  man,  dressed  like  himself  in  a 
military  uniform.  It  was  Lorenzo  Aldini,  whom 
three  months  previously  we  saw  gathering  grapes  on 
the  banks  of  Lake  Albano.  He  liad  been  in  the 
army  only  about  a  month  when  Morgan  arrived  in 
Rome.  They  were  both  in  the  same  company,  and 
a  close  friendship  quickly  sprang  up  between  them. 
They  were  both  enthusiastic,  but  Morgan  was  more 
grave  and  less  easily  moved  to  anger.  Lorenzo  ad- 
mired the  deep  and  delicate  sentiments  of  lofty 
piety  which  he  soon  detected  in  Morgan  ;  he  was 
delii^hted  with  his  refined  culture  and  well-stored 
mind.  On  the  other  hand,  Morgan  was  charmed 
with  the  frank  disposition  and  cheerful  manner  of 
Lorenzo.  The  latter  seemed  to  ])revent  Morgan 
from  growing  too  austere,  and  Morgan  was  a  useful 
check  on  Lorenzo's  excitable  temperament.  Lorenzo 
spoke  both  French  and  Englisli  as  well  as  Italian, 
and  with  him  as  a  niaster  and  a  constant  companion 
Morgan  was  fast  acquiring  a  knowledge  of  Italia's 
musical  tongue.  • 

Walking  arm  in  arm  through  the  courtyard  of 
the  monastery  Lorenzo  drew  his  friend  up  to  a  large 
glass  door,  and  told  him  to  look  in.  Morgan  did  as 
he  was  bidden,  and  saw  a  large  square  room  with 
lofty  ceilings,  and  a  fresco  painting  on  one  wall  re- 
presenting many  persons  apparently  falling  in  great 
confusion.  He  recognized  amongst  them  Pius  IX., 
but  could  not  understand  what  it  meant.  Turning 
to  Lorenzo  he  asked  an  explanation. 


m 


§ 


i 


<  ! 


90 


AFTER   WEARY    TEARS. 


"  It  is  soon  given,"  said  his  cheerful  companion* 
"  That  picture,  although  not  a  work  of  great  art,  is 
not,  as  some  English  writers  flippantly  term  it,  a 
daub.  The  features  of  the  various  personp.  are 
exact,  the  positions  in  keeping  with  tlie  story,  and 
were  it  only  three  hundred  years  old,  I  dare  say 
some  of  your  great  English  critics  would  be  in  rap- 
tures over  it.  However,  we  have  nothing  to  do 
with  the  merits  of  the  picture  as  a  work  of  art. 
It  represents  one  of  the  many  wonderful  scenes 
in  the  life  of  our  great  Pontiff.  On  the  12th 
April,  1855,  the  anniversary  of  his  return  from 
Gaeta,  Pius  IX.,  attended  by  a  brilliant  suite, 
amongst  others  the  arenerals  of  the  French  and 
Austrian  armies  of  occupation,  went  out  to  visit 
the  tlien  lately  discovered  ruins  of  the  Church  of 
St.  Alexander.  About  seven  miles  farther  out  this 
road  th(j  College  of  Propaganda  has  an  extensive 
estate,  and  on  it  were  unearthed  the  interesting 
relics  of  that  early  Christian  basilica.  Keturning 
from  the  visit,  his  Holiness  called  at  this  monastery, 
and  in  a  laraje  room  above  this  one  he  received  the 
homage  of  the  monks  and  of  the  students  of  the 
Propaganda.  When  about  eighty  of  the  students 
had  been  presented,  a  sudden  crackling  sound  was 
heard.  Immediately  after,  those  in  the  room,  to  the 
number  of  one  hundred  and  twenty,  felt  the  floor 
giving  way,  and  the  next  instant  were  hurled  pell- 
mell  down  to  the  floor  of  this  apartment,  a  distance 
of  nearly  twenty  romati  palms.  The  centre  beam 
directly  beneath  the  Pope's  chair  had  given  way  and 
caused  the  disaster.     Four  or  five  persons  standing 


THE  FEAST  OF  ST.   AQNES. 


91 


near  tlie  door  remained  on  the  brink  of  the  broken 
pavement,  and  gazed  honor-stricken  down  into  the 
abyss.  On  tlie  floor  of  this  room  were  several  rude 
benclies,  pieces  of  iron, a  cart-wheel,  and  some  old 
tables.  On  to  these,  from  such  a  height,  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  persons,  old  and  young,  fell  in  a 
confused  heap,  together  with  Ave  large  lounges  and 
a  heavy  table.  Moreover,  four  persons — namely, 
tlie  two  generals,  and  Marquis  Serlupi  and  Marquis 
Sacchetti — had  swords  at  their  sides ;  and,  more 
terrible  than  all,  a  huge  block  of  travertino  was  de- 
tached from  the  window-sill,  and  fell  crashing  down 
after  the  rest.  The  furniture  that  fell  from  above 
was  smashed,  but  neither  from  this  nor  from  the 
swords,  nor  from  the  huge  rock  did  any  one  receive 
a  serious  injury.  When  the  floor  gave  way,  the 
noise  and  dust  struck  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the 
few  above.  The  lime-dust  choked  tl.osc  who  fell, 
and  after  the  noise  of  falling  material  had  died 
away  no  sound  was  heard  from  those  below.  It 
seemed  as  if  all  were  swallowed  up  in  a  common 
death.  Soon,  however,  the  dust  subsided  ;  a  door 
below  was  opened,  and  tiirough  it  every  one  was 
soon  extricated.  A  few  were  slightly  hurt,  but  not 
a  bone  was  broken.  The  Holy  Father  did  not  re- 
ceive a  single  scratch.  Imagine  the  joy  and  thanks- 
giving of  all  when,  assembled  in  the  garden,  they 
could  congratulate  one  another  on  their  happy  es- 
cape! The  Pope  entered  the  church  and  intoned  a 
solemn  "  Te  Deum,"  which  was  devoutly  sung  by  uli. 
In  commemoration  of  that  wonderful  escape,  this 
fresco  was  painted.    The  bars  of  iron  above  mark 


f 


CI 

O 


:!t 


:i 


M  : 


;      -  M 


• 


:iii 


ti  n\. 


99 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


the  heiglit  of  the  ceiling  which  broke  and  fell. 
The  names  of  all  are  painted  down  each  side. 
Above,  the  artist  has  represented  St.  Agnes  kneel- 
ing to  the  Virgin,  as  if  asking  her  to  obtain  the 
safety  of  those  who  are  falliiig.  Every  year  since 
the  12th  of  A})ril  is  a  civic  holiday;  on  it,  tlie 
stndeiits  of  Propaganda  make  a  ])ilgrimage  of 
thanksgiving  to  the  shrine  of  Agnes.  At  night  all 
Rome  is  splendidly  illuminated.  This  is  the  story 
of  yon  picture." 

"  A  most  interesting  one  it  is,"  said  Morgan  ; 
"  but  was  no  one  really  hurt  ?" 

"  Six  days  after  the  event  every  one  was  as  well 
as  ever,  except  one  student  of  Propaganda,  who  was 
still  slightly  ailing.  But  he  soon  completely  re- 
covered." 

"  Well,"  said  Morgan  reflectively,  "  the  hand  of 
God  was  evidently  in  the  work ;  otherwise  bones 
must  have  been  broken  as  well  as  tables  and 
lounges." 

:  "  So  all  who  were  present  at  the  time  believed," 
answered  Lorenzo ;  "  but  just  as  similar  events  are 
derided  at  the  present  time,  so  was  that  slighted  by 
a  couple  of  journalists  in  Turin."  / 

"  The  old  story,"  said  Morgan,  as  they  turned 
away.  "  Seeing  they  will  not  see  ;  the  Jews  were 
witnesses  of  the  miracles  of  Christ,  still  they  did 
not  believe."  !r 

"  Did  it  ever  strike  you  as  a  strange  psychologic 
phenomenon,  Morgan,"  resumed  Lorenzo,  "  that 
our  modern  unbelievers  in  the  miraculous  interven- 
tion of  God  are,  of  all  others,  the  most  superstitious  ? 


THE  FEAST  OF  ST.   AGNES. 


98 


Look  at  the  foolisli  credulity  of  yonr  Americans 
regarding  spirit-rapping,  witches,  and  fortune-tell- 
ing. If  all  I  read  be  true,  a  clever  impostor  who 
professes  to  be  in  the  mysteries  of  the  invisible 
world  can  make  a  rapid  fortune  in  the  United 
States.  A  century  or  two  ago,  such  impostors 
would  have  been  burned  by  the  grim  old  Puritans. 
IIow  astonishingly  stupid  in  their  rigor  were  these 
uncongenial  Pilgrims!  Still,"  laughed  Lorenzo,  "it 
is  a  question  if  they  did  not  manifest  more  sense  by 
burning  the  supposed  witches,  than  do  their  descen- 
dants by  believing  in  mediums.  At  least  the  for- 
mer were  more  consistent ;  what  say  you,  Morgan  ?" 

"  Why,  Lorenzo,  as  usual,  you  have  touched  upon 
so  many  different  subjects  in  a  few  words  that  I 
scarcely  know  which  I  must  answer." 

"  Take  the  last  one  first,  Morgan." 

"  All  right ;  1  think  both  the  burners  of  the 
witches  and  their  descendants,  who  believe  in  every 
table-rapper  or  medium,  display  very  little  common- 
sense.  Both  are  the  victims  of  a  false  religious  be- 
lief:  the  early  Puritans,  having  rejected  the  teach- 
ing of  the  Divinely  appointed  expounder  of  God's 
Word,  were  left  to  their  own  vagaries.  Straining 
at  a  gnat  and  swallowing  a  camel,  they  made  reli- 
gion an  oppressive  burden.  Outward  observance 
took  the  place  of  inward  sanctity ;  a  mechanical 
routine  of  sighing,  lengthening  their  faces,  and 
drawling  out  doleful  strains  of  psalms,  were  substi- 
tuted for  such  cheerful,  confiding  devotion  as  we 
witnessed  just  now  in  the  church.  Actually,  Lo- 
renzo, when  travelling  through  Maine  I  shudder  as 


{ 


n 


IHM 


1           J 

If 

n| 

'  ^hH^  i!     < 

J 

pi 


04 


AFTER  WEARY    YEARS. 


some  old  \roman  of  the  true  Puritan  type  steps  into 
the  train.  So  grim,  bony,  and  cheerless  is  the  look 
of  her  face  that  it  reminds  me  of  a  wild  Atlantic 
rock  sprinkled  with  snow.  I  doubt  if  even  you 
could  laugh  in  her  presence.  The  descendants  of 
the  "  Mayflower  pilgrims"  retain  the  cheerless  ex- 
pression of  their  ancestors,  but  have  cast  off  the 
ceremonial  yoke.  They  know  but  litUe  about  spir- 
itual matters,  and  little  of  (esthetics.  They  are 
shrewd  in  business  matters,  and  ingenious  as  me- 
chanics. Of  course,  that  natural  conviction  of  the 
existence  of  an  unseen  world  remains ;  but,  untaught 
by  a  religion  wliich  alone  can  satisfy  the  intellect  of 
man,  they  grasp  eagerly  at  the  marvellous.  They 
will  not  laugh  at  miracles  if  the  theory  and  facts  of 
a  particular  one  be  laid  clearly  before  them.  Igno- 
rance is  the  parent  of  their  spiritual  desolation." 

"  After  all,  Morgan,  they  are  not  nearly  so  much 
to  be  blamed  as  some  of  my  countrymen.  Why,  even 
here  in  Rome,  in  the  mid-day  rays  of  truth,  there 
are  persons  plotting  against  us.  It  reminds  one  of 
Lucifer  sirmitig  in  heaven." 

"You  don't  mean,"  said  Morgan  with  surprise, 
"  that  there  such  persons  in  Rome  1" 

"  Altro !"  laughed  Lorenzo,  "  in  Rome  but  not 
of  Rome ;  we  aliall  see  them  at  work." 


II 


THE   PLOTTERS   AT  WORK. 


95 


CHAPTER  VII. 


.*^- 


THE    PLOTTERS    AT   WORK. 


A  DARK  rainy  night!  a  thick  mist  on  the  river; 
a  tliick  mist  enshrouding  Castle  St.  Angelo;  a  thick 
mist  clinging  to  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's.  A  cold, 
creeping  mist,  biting  the  exposed  hands  and  stealing 
up  to  the  elbows ;  a  cowardly  mist  in  its  coldness, 
for  it  did  not  attack  you  manfully  like  a  keen  Cana- 
dian frost,  but  settled  gently  down  on  you  at  first, 
and  then  pinched  you  unmercifully.  It  was  not  a 
part  of  the  rain ;  it  was  an  independent  agent  that 
went  forth  on  a  mission  of  annoyance  quite  distinct 
from  that  of  the  rain.  It  penetrated  into  the  nose, 
eyes,  and  ears  of  the  pedestrian  ;  it  sneakingly  stole 
in  by  the  carriage-window  of  the  aristocrat  and 
tweaked  his  Roman  nose ;  it  rose  mysteriously  from 
the  brick  floor  and  plastered  wall  of  the  student's 
room,  and  sent  many  a  twinge  from  his  toes  to  his 
throbbing  temple.  It  stuck  fast  to  the  half-finished 
statue  in  the  sculptor's  studio,  and  caused  his  chisel 
to  slip  aside;  it  soaked  the  canvas  on  the  artist's 
easel,  and  made  painting  an  impossibility.  It  rushed 
viciously  into  the  throat  of  the  vender  of  cialduni 
(rings  of  pastry  carried  on  along  pole)  in  his  nightly 
round,  and  prevented  him  from  announcing,  in  his 
stentorian  voice,  that  four  could  be  had  for  a  cent. 

Few  persons^were  abroad ;  now  and  then  a  figuie 


4i 


96 


AFTER  WEARY    TEARS. 


muffled  in  a  liuge  cloak  would  dart  quickly  along, 
and  would  soon  be  enveloped,  like  ^ncas,  in  an 
impenetrable  mist.  Occasionally  some  pious  old 
woman  would  be  dimly  distinguished  by  the  dull 
glow  of  a  few  coals  burning  in  an  earthen  basket ; 
this  portable  stove  is  frequently  carried  by  old  peo- 
ple in  Rome,  particularly  when  going  to  pray  in  a 
church. 

The  rain  pattered  with  a  mournful  monotony  on 
the  roofs,  and  dripped  with  a  sound  like  the  foot- 
falls of  disturbed  spirits  on  the  sidewalks.  The 
nervous  watcher  by  the  bed  of  death  might  easily 
imagine  that  the  inmates  of  the  graveyard  were 
coming  to  bear  off  their  unburied  companions.  The 
rays  of  light  from  the  gas-lamps  were  cut  short  in 
their  tiight,  and  hopelessly  died  a  few  yards  from 
their  source. 

Such  was  the  night  in  Rome  shortly  after  the 
Feast  of  St.  Agnes. 

The  whole  region  of  the  Aventine  Hill  is  nearly 
covered  with  dank  weeds  and  shapeless  ruins.  The 
night-owl  dismally  shrieks  through  the  deserted  halls 
of  the  Baths  of  Caracalla,  and  the  jackdaw  caws 
loudly  from  its  broken  arches.  Even  in  mid-day  it 
is  almost  like  a  solitude,  although  close  to  the  in- 
habited parts  of  the  city  ;  on  such  a  night  as  we  have 
described  it  is  as  gloomy  as  the  descent  to  Avernus. 
The  pickpocket  fleeing  from  the  police,  or  the  ruf- 
fian pursued  by  the  soldiery,  finds  a  quiet  asylum 
'mid  its  tumbling  walls  of  masonry. 

At  the  back  of  the  ruins  of  the  Baths  a  narrow 
passage  runs  between  two  converging  walls.  At 
first  sight  it  appears  to  be  a  blind  alley,  and  to  have 


THE  PLOTTERS   AT    WORK. 


97 


no  connection  witli  the  interior.  But  if  you  follow 
it  for  a  few  yards  you  will  come  into  a  dark  room, 
and  turning  to  your  left  you  can  descend  a  flight  of 
stone  steps  to  a  damp  cell.  From  this  another  pas- 
sage leads  by  various  windings  to  an  upper  apart- 
ment, apparently  the  tiring-room  of  the  Baths  in 
the  days  of  tlie  Emi)ire.  Traces  of  fresco  still  adorn 
the  wall ;  the  floor  is  of  mosaic-work,  and  squares 
of  tin  coated  with  mercury,  used  for  mirrors,  are 
let  into  the  walls.  A  laughing  Bacchus  clinging  to 
a  clustering  vine  looks  roguishly  down  from  the 
ceiling.  Owing  to  the  fall  of  the  brickwork  above 
and  around  this  apartment  there  is  no  outlet  save  by 
the  dark  passage  already  mentioned  ;  it  is,  moreover, 
for  the  same  reason  completely  isolated.  No  one 
can  approach  nearer  than  a  hundred  yards  to  it.  It 
is  not  very  damp,  for  it  is  too  well  protected  from 
the  rain,  and  is  ventilated  by  currents  of  air  which 
circulate  through  various  crevices.  It  is,  on  the 
whole,  a  secure  and  comfortable  hiding-place. 

On  this  night  it  is  not  unoccupied.  Seated  on  a 
rude  bench  in  one  corner,  near  a  pan  of  glowing 
coals,  is  a  human  figure.  He  has  a  scowling  and 
hunted  appearance,  like  a  tiger  brought  to  bay. 
His  long  hair  is  unkempt,  his  beard  grizzly  and 
matted,  and  his  large  cloak  greasy  and  worn.  His 
forehead  falls  quickly  back,  as  if  seeking,  by  an  in- 
stinct of  nature,  to  hide  the  word  villain,  which  any 
one  may  read  on  it.  His  hook-nose  is  pointed  like 
the  beak  of  a  hawk,  and  lias  such  a  savage  look 
that  one  might  fancy  that  it  was  about  to  make  a 
grasp  at  his  twitching  upper-lip.     But  it  is  chiefly 


ij 


4. 


98 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


■:|| 

iii; 


in  his  eyes  that  one  can  read  tlie  man's  iniquity 
They  are  small,  close  together,  and  brilliantly  black. 
You  can  alinoat  imagine  tliat  you  see  a  dancing 
demon  in  each  of  those  malicious-looking  orbs.  We 
never  saw  such  eyes  but  once  ;  it  was  when  walking 
the  Roman  Corso  during  the  days  of  the  Garibal- 
dian  raids  in  1867.  Had  we  been  a  Roman  police 
officer,  their  owner  would  have  had  to  show  good 
cause  why  he  should  not  be  shot  for  a  consummate 
villain. 

The  solitary  occupant  of  what  we  shall  call  the 
Den  was  restless ;  ever  and  anon  he  started  into  a 
listening  attitude,  like  a  person  who  apprehends 
danger,  or  is  anxiously  awaiting  some  one.  Green 
lizards  run  playfully  down  the  walls  near  him,  and 
hurry  away  so  soon  as  he  glances  towards  them. 
Even  a  black  scorpion,  that  carries  poison  enough  to 
give  death  to  half  a  dozen  queens,  darts  quickly  off 
when  freed  from  the  magnetic  iniluence  of  his 
wicked  eyes.  At  length  an  indistinct  rumbling 
sound  is  heard ;  he  starts  to  his  feet,  seizes  a  large 
revolver  from  a  stone  bench,  and  pulls  a  stiletto 
from  beneath  his  cloak.  He  then  stealthily  shrinks 
back  behind  a  broken  statue  near  the  entrance  to 
the  Den.  A  peculiar  cry,  half  snarl,  half  growl, 
resounds  through  the  outer  hall.  Stepping  out 
from  his  lurking-place,  he  answers  with  a  similar 
noise,  and  soon  live  persons  enter.  Four  of  them 
are  dressed  in  checkered  trousers,  brown  velvet 
vests,  and  dark  cloth  coats;  on  their  heads  they 
have  broad  -  brimmed,  low -crowned  felt  hats,  in- 
dented, apparently,  of  a  set  purpose,  over  the  left 


THE  PLOTTKRS   AT  WORK. 


99 


ear.  They  have  finger-rings,  and  large  gold  chains, 
ornamented  with  a  profusion  of  seals  imitative  of 
deer's  horns,  and  small  cameos.  Tlie  fifth  person 
W.1S  a  yonng  man  of  slightly  dissipated  appearance, 
and  with  a  dropping  jaw  which  gave  a  weak  look 
to  his  face. 

The  four  new-comers,  who  were  dressed  alike, 
bowed  low  to  tlio  occupant  of  the  Den,  whilst  the 
fifth  cnie  stood  awkwardly  by. 

"  Whom  have  you  here  ?"  said,  or  i  nther  jerked 
out  of  himself,  he  of  the  evil  eyes 

"  One  who  wishes  to  join  our  nuiks,"  replied  the 

"It  is  well  so;  it  is  a  wish  worthy  of  a  patriot; 
ours  is  a  noble  cause.  Do  you  know  what  it  is?" 
said  he,  turning  to  the  fifth  one. 

"  Why,  partly,"  stammered  the  latter. 

"  Listen  ;  I  will  tell  you.  It  is  to  make  Italy  one 
and  undivided  from  the  Alps  to  the  LiliboBO.  Do 
you  know  me  ?" 

"  No,"  was  the  faltering  answer. 

"Well,  I  am  Capodiavolo;  yoii  have  heard  of 
him?" 

The  young  man  started  back  with  a  wild  look  of 
teiror,  as  he  heard  the  dread  name  of  Capodiavolo, 
or  Head  Devil.  That  name  was  connected  with 
secret  murders,  and  all  the  mysterious  disapj)ear- 
auces  of  many  unfortunate  young  men. 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Capodiavolo;  "you  have 
heard  my  name  before.  My  namesake  is  down 
there,"  said  he,  stamping  on  the  floor ;  "  but  he  will 
not  get  me  for  some  tim^,,jj;^i«,J^elong  to  Young 


4 


(I- 


u^i 


100 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


iiii  iiJ- 


mii 


m- 


Italj  for  many  years  to  come.  I  am  a  child  of  fate, 
and  must  work  out  my  allotted  task.  But  don't 
fear  me,  my  brave  young  volunteer;  it  is  only 
traitors  who  feel  my  wrath.  Do  you  know  my 
friends  here?"  Saying  this  he  laid  his  hands  on 
the  young  man's  shoulders,  and  brought  his  demon- 
lighted  eyes  to  bear  on  those  of  his  "  brave  young 
volunteer."  Tlie  latter  did  not  at  all  enjoy  his 
position.  He  was  visibly  afraid  of  Capodiavolo,  as 
well  he  might  be.  At  length  he  answered  that  he 
did  not  know  the  other  persons. 

"  This  is  Mars,  this  Bacchus,  this  Cupid,  this 
Minos,"  said  Capodiavolo,  rapidly  indicating  eacli 
one.  lie  always  apj)eared  to  jerk  forth  his  words, 
much  after  the  manner  one  miglit  suppose  an  ani- 
mated forcing-pump  would  speak,  if  it  could. 

"  They  are  my  council,"  continued  Capodiavolo. 
"  Mars  will  be  the  leader  of  the  troops ;  Bacchus  is 
the  social  compj^.Tiion  who  meets  young  men  in 
wineshops,  and  whispers  to  them  over  their  cnj)s 
about  Italy,  one  and  undivided;  Cupid  enlists  the 
sympathy  of  the  fair  sex  in  our  cause ;  and  Minos — 
but  what  do  you  think  Minos  does,  my  bold  volun- 
teer? You  don't  know,"  he  went  on,  seeing  the 
other's  vacant  look.  "  I'll  tell  you — he  passes  the 
death  sentence  on  traitors !" 

As  he  hissed  these  last  words,  like  a  choking 
forcing-pump,  the  dancing  demons  almost  leaped 
from  his  eyes. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  be  one  of  us,  my  fine  fel- 
low," went  on  Capodiavolo ;  "  you  are  burning  to 
be  a  patriot.      The  blood  of  the  ancient  Romans 


if 


THE   PLOTTERS    AT   WORK. 


101 


runs  hot  in  your  veins."  (To  all  appearance  tlie 
"fine  fellow's"  blood  w;is  })retty  cold  just  then.) 
"We  will  make  you  a  imtriot  to-night.  Our  club- 
room  is  not  properly  Utted  up,  nor  are  all  our  offi- 
cers here.  We  cannot,  consequently,  have  a  grand 
iiiipofting  ceremony  ;  but  we  can  bind  you  all  the 
same.  Wc  can  enroll  you  on  our  list;  we  can  tell 
you  what  you  have  to  do ;  and  we  can  show  you  the 
[)imishu)ent  meted  out  to  traitors." 

Again  his  evil  eyes  glowed  with  the  concentrated 
malignity  of  a  dozen  enraged  serpents;  as  their 
baleful  light  fell  on  the  yo'mg  man  all  thought  of 
ever  being  uble  to  free  himself  vanished.  He  be- 
came a  passive  instrument  in  the  hands  of  CajJO- 
(liiivolo. 

During  all  this  time  the  other  four  had  not 
sj)oken  a  word.  Mars  was  iiercely  standing,  with 
his  hand  on  his  sword-hilt;  I^acchus  was  looking 
carelessly  up  at  liis  luutiesake  on  the  ceiling ; 
Cupid  was  arranging  his  cravat  before  one  of  the 
pieces  of  glittering  tin;  and  Minos  was  seated  on  a 
fnigment  of  a  broken  Faun,  looking  profoundly 
judicial. 

When  Capodiavolo  had  become  assured  that  the 
young  man  was  thoroughly  subdued  and  brought 
to  a  sufficient  sense  of  dread,  he  turned  to  his  Coun- 
cil and  said  :  "  To  business  ;  enroll  a  new  })atriot." 

When  the  words  were  uttered,  J>acchus  drew  up 
a  small  table  froui  one  co'-ner  and  placed  it  in  front 
of  the  "new  patriot";  MinoF  brought  from  a  dark 
nook  a  skull,  and  an  old  stiletto  rusted  with  blood, 
and  Cupid  began  to  light  a  Bengal  candle,  which 


c 


nam 


If 


102 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


If 


|;;:^ 


,f 


U 


i 


shed  a  bluish-green  ray  over  the  Den.  The  rusty 
stiletto  was  placed  in  the  unresisting  hand  of  the 
"  new  ))atriot ";  Capodiavolo  stood  opposite  him  ; 
Mars  drew  a  revolver  and  aimed  at  an  imaginary 
foe;  Bacchus  looked  encouragingly  at  the  novice 
so  as  to  keep  up  his  spirits  ;  Cupid  held  the  light, 
ai!d  Minos  read  a  summary  of  the  object  of  the  so- 
ciety. Its  aim  was  to  make  a  "  free  and  undivided 
Italy,"  and  to  prepare  the  way  for  the  Universal 
Ilepublic.  "  Italians,"  it  said,  "  were  the  descen- 
dants of  a  conquering  race;  they  had  fallen,  but  the 
day  was  fast  approaching  when  Young  Italy,  rising 
like  a  beauteous  nymph  from  the  mists  t)f  a  valley, 
would  soar  aloft  to  the  mountain-peak  of  earthly 
glory.  The  patriots  were  a  band  of  brothers ;  Lil)- 
erty.  Fraternity,  Equality,  was  their  motto ;  a  united 
Italy  their  watchword.  To  achieve  their  aims 
every  art  was  to  be  employed ;  at  present  the  Sar- 
dinian Monarchy  was  to  be  used  as  a  tool,  for  the 
people  were  not  prepared  for  a  republic ;  but  once 
their  aim  of  making  Home  the  capital  of  Italy  had 
been  accomplished,  they  would  begin  to  concert 
measures  for  the  proclamation  of  a  republic  from 
the  halls  of  the  Capitol.  The  enemies  of  their  soci- 
ety were  to  be  got  rid  of  by  any  and  every  means, 
and  false  brethren  were  to  be  pursued  to  the  farth- 
est corner  of  the  earth." 

A  vast  lot  of  such  bombastic  and  visionary  non- 
sense was  read  aloud  by  Minos.  During  its  recital 
Capodiavolo  kept  the  young  man  transfixed  with 
his  glittering  eyes.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  read- 
ing, the  "  new  patriot"  was  told  to  thrust  the  rusty 


111 


THE   PLOTTEKS    AT   WORK. 


103 


stiletto  into  the  eyeless  socket  of  the  skull,  and  to 
swear  fealty  to  the  constitution  of  the  society  and 
unquestioning  obedience  to  the  commands  of  its 
heads;  to  perform  faithfully  every  task  assigned 
him,  even  were  it  the  killing  of  his  own  brother, 
and  to  never  betray  by  sig»i  or  word  the  members 
and  doings  of  the  society.  Were  he  to  fail  in  any 
of  these  he  invoked  on  himself  most  horril)le 
curses,  and  the  piercing  of  his  brain  in  the  same 
way  as  he  now  drove  the  stiletto,  rusty  with  the 
blood  of  false  brethren,  through  this  rattling  skull. 

It  was  an  infei  lal  spectacle ;  the  blue-green  light 
tlickered  weirdly  through  the  Den,  casting  on  the 
I'epulsive  features  of  (Japodiavolo  such  a  leering 
look  of  nudice  as  would  sit  well  on  his  satanic 
namesake  when  receiving  into  his  abode  of  ever- 
lasting horror  one  who  has  been  his  dupe  upon 
I'urth.  The  impious  oath  by  which  the '*  new  pat- 
riot" abdicated  his  manhood  and  gave  himself  up 
a  slave  to  the  will  of  the  leaders  of  the  revolution, 
was  worthy  of  the  surroundings.  Only  in  hell 
could  such  a  plot  for  uphejiving  society  and  for  de- 
grading man  by  making  him  the  hangman  of  his 
own  liberty  have  been  hrtched..  Only  those  who 
had  never  known,  or  who  had  fallen  away  from,  the 
dignity  and  liberty  of  the  Children  of  the  Church, 
in  which  Truth  i  .kes  men  free,  could  be  the  dupes 
of  such  villany. 

When  the  terrible  oath  was  ended,  Minos  entered 
on  the  rolls  of  the  society  the  name,  ai^^e,  condition 
in  life,  and  personal  apj)earance  of  the  new 
"  brother."     He  was  given  to  understand  that  this 


I 


104 


AFTER  WEARY    YEARS. 


•ii: 


^H 


s 
ill' 

Ii 

m 


3:  s 


was  (lone  in  order  to  enable  them  to  hunt  him  out 
should  he  ever  try  to  quit  their  society.  Bacchus 
now  produced  a  flagon  of  wine  and  five  glasses ;  the 
new  brother  and  Capodiavolo  were  to  drink  out  of 
the  same  one  for  this  night,  so  as  to  seal  their  com- 
pact. When  the  glasses  had  been  filled,  Capodiavolo 
drank  "  Death  to  traitors,"  and  lianding  the  half- 
emptied  glass  to  the  neophyte  told  him  to  drink  the 
same  toast.  This  was  another  link  in  the  chain  of 
terror  by  which  these  unholy  societies  bind  fast 
their  dupes. 

"  To  our  banner,  emblem  of  our  hopes,"  drank 
Mars. 

"  To  the  bowl,  that  helps  us  to  recruits,"  said 
Bacchus. 

"  To  the  ladies,  whose  sympathy  we  seek,"  spoke 
Cupid. 

"The  stiletto,  our  sharp  avenger,"  growled  Mi- 
nos. 

After  they  had  all  partaken  pretty  freely,  Capo- 
diavolo turned  to  the  latest  volunteer,  whom  they 
named  Cecco,  and  proceeded  to  enlighten  him  fur- 
ther about  their  designs.  "  The  Pope  must  fall," 
said  he.  "So  long  as  he  remains  a  temporal  sover- 
eign we  cannot  succeed.  lie  nmst  be  overtlirown ; 
his  office  is  not  required  ;  we  have  cast  off  all  relig- 
ion. Italy  is  our  God  ;  the  Republic  claims  our  de- 
votion." 

Cecco  was  not  a  bad  man  at  heart ;  he  had  fallen 
away  from  the  practice  of  his  religious  duties,  and, 
as  a  consequence,  had  grown  lukewarm.  He ^ had 
also  been  given  to  frequenting  low  wine-shops,  and 


THE   PLOTTERS    AT   WORK. 


105 


■if 


had  fallen  in  with  loose  companions.    It  was  at  one  of 
these  places  that  he  liad  met  JJacchus,  and,  charmed 
by  his  vivacity  and  excited  by  the  idea  of  a  Young 
Italy,  had  partly  consented  to  join  them.     At  that 
time  he  did  not  know  their  impious  designs  in  full. 
It  is  a  part  of  the  policy  of  these  societies  to  veil 
for  a  time  from  their  dupes  the  extent  of  their  im- 
piety.    Once  that  they  have  got  them  to  take  the 
oath,  and  have  terrified  them  into  obedience,  they 
unfold    more   fully    their  plans.     Poor  Cecco  had 
come  to  the  Den  thinking  that  he  would  examine 
for  himself,  and  remain  free  if  he  did  not  approve 
of  their  ways.     He    was,    however,  so  completely 
overawed  by  the  eyes  of  Capodiavoio  that  he  could 
only   passively    follow   his  directions.      Hence   he 
took  the  oath.     Now  when  he  heard  such  blasphe- 
mies against  religion  he  awoke  to  a  sense  of  his  po- 
sition.    He  knew  well  enough  that  the  Pope  was 
the  legitimate  King  of  Rome ;  he  knew  his  govern- 
ment was  the  mildest  and  gave  the  most  real  free- 
dom of  any  in  the  world  ;  he  was  certain  the  Catho- 
lic religion  was  the  only  true  one,  and,  although  he 
had  been  careless  in  fulfilling  its  precepts,  he  did 
not  wish  to  be  cut  off  from  its  communion. 

Something  like  this  he  tried  to  say ;  but  such  a 
diabolical  light  came  into  the  eyes  of  Capodiavoio 
that  he  shuddered  and  became  silent. 

"  1  tell  you,"  hissed  this  monster,  "  that  body  and 
soul  you  are  ours ;  you  have  sworn ;  your  name  is 
entered  down ;  you  have  no  longer  a  will  of  your 
own ;  in  life  and  death,  for  good  and  evil,  we  hold 
you  bound  to  our  ranks.  Forget  as  soon  as  possible 
5* 


o 


1 


w 


1(X5 


AFTER  WEARY    YEARS. 


n 


all  about  your  Catechism,  and  learn  the  creed  of 
young  Italy." 

Leavin^ij  Cecco  to  reflect  on  his  condition,  and 
trusting  tliat  he  would,  seeing  himself  so  thoroughly 
ensnared,  quietly  accept  the  situation  as  he  had 
known  many  hundreds  to  do,  Capodiavolo  turned  to 
his  "Council"  and  asked  what  news. 

"  The  procuring  of  munitions  of  war  goes  on 
satisfactorily,"  said  Mars ;  '"  we  have  begun  a  depot 
for  Orsini  l)ombs,  fire-arms,  and  swords  on  the 
premises  of  Ajani,  the  cloth  manufacturer.  Already 
a  good  many  of  these  military  stores  have  been 
safely  passed  under  the  very  nose  of  t  le  J^apal 
police.  Keen-scented  as  those  fellows  undoubtedly 
are  we  have  outwitted  them  this  time.  Once  landed 
on  Ajani's  premises  they  are  safe ;  no  search  will 
ever  be  made  for  arms  there." 

"Why  not?"  said  Caj)odiavolo.  "Is  Ajani  a 
Koman  ?" 

"  No,"  returned  Mars.  "  he  came  to  Rome  some 
few  years  ago ;  but  he  is  such  a  good  hypocrite  that 
he  has  deceived  the  priests  most  effectually.  Why, 
he  supplies  all  the  cloth  to  the  College  of  Propa- 
ganda for  the  students.  It  is  a  capital  piece  of  act- 
ing to  see  him  kissing  most  reverently  the  hand  of 
the  Rector  of  Propaganda.*  Never  fear;  om  his 
grounds  our  stores  are  quite  safe." 

*  Note. — This  Ajaui  is  tlie  one  at  whose  place  in  October 
1867,  a  fight  occurred  between  the  Pontifical  soldiers  and  the 
Garibaldians.  Several  bombs  and  other  things  were  discovered 
at  the  time.  Some  of  the  Garibaldians  were  killed  and  several 
taken  prisoners,  Ajani  amongst  the  latter.  We  well  remember 


THE   PLOTTERS    AT   WORK. 


107 


"That's  good,"  said  Capodiavolo;  "men  like 
Ajani  are  required  ;  what  a  clever  dog  he  must  be ! 
I  could  never  act  that  way,  but  it  is  well  to  have 
some  of  our  men  who  can.  For  twenty  years  I  have 
been  working  for  Young  Italy,  and  never  once  did  I 
succeed  in  deceiving  these  Papal  guards." 

"  Because,"  laughed  Mars,  ""  you  have  an  unfortu- 
nate face  ;  it  is  as  legible  as  the  alpliabet  on  a  child's 
cardboard." 

"Let  that  be,"  growled  Capodiavolo;  "your  own 
is  not  too  handsome.     But  what  further  news?" 

"  I  learn  from  the  provinces  that  we  must  use 
great  caution,"  continued  Mars ;  "  the  ])eople  are  at- 
tached to  the  Papal  government,  and  will  not  be 
moved  to  a  revolt." 

"A  million  curses  on  the  wretches!"  came  in  such 
muffled  accents  from  Capodiavolo  that  it  almost 
seemed  as  if  the  forcing-pump  must  surely  burst  or 
clioke.    "  Will  they  not  tight  for  liberty  ?" 

"  They  say  they  are  quite  free  and  prosperous 
under  the  Pope,"  added  Mars. 

"The  vile  slaves,  to  remain  subject  to  priestly 
rule  when  the  Universal  Republic  is  calling  all  to 
arms,"  now  fiercely  shrieked  the  scowling  Capo- 
diavolo.    "But  what  from  other  parts?" 

"  In  the  various  cities  throughout  Italy  we  are 
gathering  a  few  munitions;  but  generally  we  have 
to  conceal  our  intended  attack  on  the  Pope  from  the 


IT'  .-< 


MfKom 
\t*tm 


the  incredulous  surprise  with  whicli  the  good  Hector  of  Propa- 
ganda first  received  the  news.  Ajaui  was  condemned  to  be 
shot,  a  fate  he  richly  deserved.  Several  prominent  foreigners 
had  the  impudence  to  intercede  for  the  miscreant. 


in  11 

:^m|I 

1   ;:Mfcffl 

'      i^;.^^Ol 

108 


AFTKU    WEARY    YEARS. 


11^ 


I 

•I' 


people.  We  tell  them  tliiit  it  is  to  free  liiiii  from 
the  foreign  soldiers;  we  make  them  believe  that  he 
is  inviting  us  to  come  to  rescue  him  from  these  troops. 
It  is  our  only  chance ;  Italy  clings,  despite  all  our 
labors,  to  the  Papacy.  l>y  masking  our  designs, 
and  by  getting  power  in  the  council  of  Victor 
Emanuers  governnicnt,  we  may  succeed.  A  fig  for 
the  nation  if  we  hold  the  purse-strings  and  the 
military  power !" 

Capodiavolo  felt  the  truth  of  this,  so  he  could 
only  inwardly  writhe  and  vent  himself  in  horrible 
blasphemies,  that  curdled  the  blood  of  Cecco,  who 
sat  shivering  in  a  corner.  Bacchus  now  began  his 
report : 

"  I  frequent  the  restaurants  and  wine-shops  con- 
tinually •  ever  since  the  departure  of  the  French 
soldiers  the  Roman  police  have  been  most  active. 
Many  of  our  schemes  were  nipped  in  the  bud  by 
those  prowling  blue-coats.  I  have  approached 
many  of  the  Pope's  soldiers,  but  found  them  all  en- 
thusiastic in  his  cause.  Now  and  then  I  pick  up 
some  half-witted  stripling  like  Cecco  yonder,  wdio 
listens  to  my  glowing  accounts  of  a  United  Italy ; 
but  I  fear  the  Romans  will  never  join  our  party. 
The  talk  everywhere  is  about  the  lightness  of  tlieir 
taxes  compared  with  those  of  other  parts,  the  abun- 
dance of  food,  and  the  comparative  security  of  life 
and  property.  They  say,  too,  that  the  glory  of 
Rome  as  the  seat  of  the  Pontifical  throne  is  far 
greater  than  it  could  ever  be  were  it  merely  the 
capital  of  Italy.  They  recall  the  decay  of  glory  and 
wealth  which  ever  followed  when  the  Popes  had  to 


IM 


THE  PLOTTERS   AT  WORK. 


109 


n 


quit  their  city.  I  try  to  work  against  tlicee  senti- 
iiieiits,  and  spend  freely  the  money  supplied  l)y  the 
Society.  Cacchus,  you  jolly  god,  through  you  I 
sometimes  enlist  an  odd  volunteer.  Here's  to  you, 
you  climbing  elf." 

Thus  the  human  J3acchus  ended  his,  to  Capo- 
(liavolo,  discouraging  report.  However,  this  latter 
had  plotted  too  long,  and  had  too  much  determined 
malice,  to  think  of  relinquishing  his  schemes. 
Merely  telling  Bacchus  to  frequent  the  places  of 
public  resort,  to  spend  freely  his  money  as  their 
treasury  was  well  rephjnished  by  contributions  and 
legacies,  and  to  learn  all  he  could  concerning  the 
movements  of  the  Roman  police,  he  turned  to  Cupid 
for  his  report.  This  individual  was  the  exquisite  of 
the  party  :  his  duty  was  to  enlist  the  sympathies  of 
women  in  behalf  of  the  cause  of  Young  Italy.  Many 
advantages  were  to  be  hoped  from  this  source.  It 
brought  in  money ;  it  brought  news  of  the  move- 
ments of  the  Pontifical  authorities ;  it  helped  to 
spread  the  republican  idea ;  and,  greatest  of  all,  it 
gave  hope  of  immense  results  in  the  future.  The  So- 
ciety knew  well  that  if  it  could  enlist  the  mothers  of 
Italy  under  its  banner  the  next  generation  would  be 
theirs.  Every  false  system  of  ethics  or  civilization, 
every  visionary  scheme  of  political  adventurers,  has 
sought,  and  ever  will  seek,  to  take  woman  out  of  her 
sphere  in  the  social  order.  Make  woman  the  slave 
of  man;  make  her  a  brazen  "lady  of  fashion"; 
make  her  a  gadding  politician,  or  a  garrulous 
lawyer ;  make  her  a  stump  orator,  or  a  peripatetic 
preacher ;  make  her,  in  short,  anything  except  \vhat 


^i»«li 

<» 

o 


110 


AFTER  WEAUY    YEARS. 


God  intended  her  to  be — viz.,  tlie  companion  and 
helpmate  of  man,  the  modest,  clieerful  honsehokl 
spirit,  the  liigli-priestess  of  the  family  altar  ever 
presidinj^  in  her  own  place — and  all  familv  life  will 
soon  be  destroyed.  Thus  will  the  founuations  of 
society  be  overthrown,  and  anarchy  will  soon  reign 
supreme.  Hence  the  importance  attached  by  secret 
societies  to  the  securing  of  the  influence  of  woman. 

Cupid,  who  was  a  true  type  of  a  modern  fop — 
languid,  simpering,  brainless,  and  brazen — began  his 
tale. 

"1  have  succeeded  pretty  well ;  several  ladies  of 
fashion  are  enthusiastic  over  our  cause.     One  Eng- 
lish   lady,  very  rich,  very  fashionable,  is  working 
night  and  day  for   us.     Per  l^acco !    it  makes  me 
faint  with  laughing  to  think  of  her  enthusiasm. 
These  English   are  so  enthusiastic  over   anything 
that   catches   their   fancv.      Thick-headed    and   so 
easily  gulled,  they  are  prime  chaps  for  our  purpose 
See  when  poor  old  Garibaldi,  whom  of  course  in 
public  we  reverence,  went  to  England,  what  a  com- 
motion he  excited!     Ha,  ha,  lia!  it  was  great  fun 
to  see  those  great  Signori  and  Signore  bowing  and 
scraping  to  the  cunning  old  fox.     Had  it  not  been 
for   those   hot-blooded  Irishmen,  what  a  time  he 
would  have  had  in  England !     Well — but  I  lose  the 
thread  of  my  discourse — this  English  lady  of  whom 
I  speak  has  done  well  for  us.     With  the  Roman 
matrons  I  can  do  but  little.     They  are  tooth  and 
nail  for  the  Pope." 

While  Cupid  was  laughingly  speaking  about  the 
childish  excitement  of  uiany  persons  in  England 


In^ 


THE   PLOTTERS    AT   WOKK. 


Ill 


dnriiij^  the  visit  of  tlie  drivellincf  old  revolutionist, 
Garibaldi,  the  features  of  Capodiavolo  underwent 
the  nearest  approacli  to  a  smile  that  they  liad  ever 
been  known  to  assume.  His  evil  eyes  lost  a  triHe  of 
their  diabolical  lij^ht;  his  twitching  upper-lip  al- 
most touched  the  beak  of  )iis  nose,  and  the  faintest 
indication  of  a  line  became  traceable  on  each  cheek. 
The  Italian  has  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous; 
much  as  the  revolutionists  were  delii^hted  at  (lari- 
baldi's  reception,  they  coidd  not  but  laugh  j>rivately 
at  the  gulled  Englishmen.  That  sensible  men  should 
run  after  a  hackneyed  revolutionist  and  a  vulgar 
demagogue  could  only  happen  among  a  people 
whose  intellectual  faculties  are  oppressed  by  an 
incubus  of  ])rejudice.  The  Italian  rarely  allows 
prejudice  to  warp  his  judgment,  although  he  may 
let  it  sway  his  actions.  Hence  lie  is  peculiarly  well 
adapted  either  for  the  high  walks  of  intellectual 
investigations,  or  for  the  dark  ways  of  secret  plot- 
ting. He  does  not  try  to  blind  himself  to  the  un- 
popularity of  his  cause,  although  he  will  hide  it 
from  liis  dupes.  This  is  wliy  Capodiavolo  and  his 
Council  spoke  so  coolly  and  with  no  disguise  regard- 
ing the  sentiments  of  the  Roman  people. 

During  all  this  time  Minos  liad  sat  lowerinnr  on 
his  favorite  seat,  the  broken  Faun.  He  was  not  at 
any  time  a  person  of  an  inviting  aspect,  but  now  the 
dark  scowl  which  corrugated  his  brow  and  nose,  as 
if  a  demon's  paw  were  grasping  his  face,  gave  him 
a  most  forbidding  appearance.  Capodiavolo  noted 
it  as  he  turned,  and  at  once  su8j)ected  that  some- 
thing had  gone  wrong.     "What  uow,  Minos j  are 


.,.<! 


c 


w 


112 


AFTER    WKARY    YEAKS. 


ill  ti 


W(5  disco vui'ud,  or  huvo  our  brotliur   lodgob   failed 

U8?" 

"  Not  quite  so  bad  as  that,"  j^rowled  Minos ;  "  but 
a  traitor  seeks  to  leave  our  ranks.  He  is  \vat(;hed  ; 
to-ni^i(lit  I  expect  they  will  brinj^  him  hither:  you 
know  what  fullt)W8.'" 

"Yes:  death  slow  and  painful;  death  i)roh>nged 
till  every  nerve  and  fibre  (juivers  with  spasms  of  un- 
told agony  ;  death  that  will  slowly  eat  into  the  mar- 
row of  the  traitor's  i)oncs,  and  make  him  suffer  a 
thousand  deaths  in  everv  inch  of  his  vile  frame." 
The  voice  and  look  of  Capodiavolo  as  he  jerked 
forth  these  words  were  a  grand  masterpiece  of  dia- 
bolical acting.  The  dancing  demons  shot  a  shower 
of  sparks  from  his  evil  eyes  that  served  to  make  the 
picture  finished. 

"Who  is  he?  and  what  has  he  done?"  he  then 
demanded. 

"Young  Marini,  who  was  initiated  three  months 
ago ;  he  avoids  us  in  the  streets,  and  he  has  been 
seen  frequenting  the  churches.  As  yet  I  do  not 
know  how  much  he  has  disclosed,  but  after  to  night 
his  tonj^ue  will  be  still  enouij:h." 

"Have  you  taken  precautions  for  his  capture?" 

"  Yes,  and  I  expect  my  men  every  minute." 

They  sat  in  silence  for  some  time  brooding  over 
their  fancied  wrong.  Here  were  these  men  traitors 
to  their  God,  to  their  religion,  to  their  king;  traitors 
to  the  young  and  unwary ;  traitors  to  the  liberty 
-•^Md  dignity  of  man,  growing  furious  over  the  fact 
that  one  whom  they  had  betrayed  into  swearing 
away  his  manhood,  his  liberty,  his  virtue,  and  his 


THE  PLOTTERS    AT    WOliK. 


ii:{ 


loyalty,  was  now  endeavoring  to  free  liiinself  from 
the  bond  of  inicpiity  by  wliicli  they  lioj)ed  to  bind 
liiin  to  their  eause.  And  thus  it  ever  is:  the  men 
who  have  sworn  away  their  individual  liberty  by 
joining  secret  societies  of  any  hue  whatsoever  are 
the  very  ones  to  j)ratc  most  about  freedom,  they 
themselves  being  held  in  a  viler  bondage  than  ever 
was  a  Kussian  serf. 

After  a  short  time  the  rumbling  noise  and  pecu- 
liar sonud  which  had  preceded  the  entrance  of  Mars 
and  .  s  companions  were  again  heard,  and  three 
ruftianly  looking  j)crsuns  entered,  dragging  a  fourth. 
Tliis  latter  was  handcuflcd  and  gagged,  lie  was  a 
young  man  of  about  twenty-seven,  well  formed,  and 
respectably  dressed.  There  was  an  a})pearance  of 
quiet  courage  and  latent  strength  in  his  lustrous 
eyes  that  gave  a  noble  expression  to  his  face.  The 
gag  was  removed  from  his  mouth,  and  his  hands 
were  set  free ;  in  the  Den  he  was  completely  in 
their  power. 

Oapodiavolo  glared  fiercely  on  him,  and  Marini 
met  his  gaze  without  any  sign  of  fear.  Cecco  was 
called  from  his  dark  corner,  and  Capodiavolo,  ad- 
dressing him,  said  : 

"  You  see  that  man  ;  he  is  a  ti'aitor.  Like  you  he 
swore  to  obey  us,  and  to  remain  true  to  our  Society. 
He  has  broken  his  oath,  and  tried  to  escape.  But 
the  arms  of  our  Society  are  long ;  our  means  of 
reaching  traitors  many.  Here  he  is  now  in  our 
power,  just  as  any  other  false  brother  will  surely  be. 
Take  a  warning  by  his  example  :  you  shall  see  liow 
we  can  punish," 


J  jyi  ^u^<|iM|iiiaji|ib«;_;i(> 


!«! 


f    '4.', 


A: 


w 


114 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


Poor  Cecco  trembled ;  he  saw  the  suppressed  fury 
of  Capodiavolo  glaring  in  his  eyes ;  he  felt  that 
nought  but  the  blood  of  the  unfortunate  Marini 
could  sate  his  vengeance.  Fear  held  him  powerless. 
Marini  appeared  calm,  and  manifested  no  fears. 
His  breath  came  and  went  quickly  ;  his  nostrils 
slightly  quivered,  his  lips  were  tirm-set,  and  his  eyes 
rested  on  Minos  and  Capodiavolo  with  an  unflinch- 
ing gaze.  "  Why  have  I  been  dragged  hither?"  he 
at  length  said  : 

"  To  be  tortured,  to  be  pained,  to  be  put  to  death 
by  inches,"  snarled  Capodiavolo.  "  You  are  a  traitor, 
and  you  know  a  traitor's  doom.  You  invoked  it  on 
yourself  in  this  very  tipot,  and  soon  you  will  And  it 
settliuiic  around  vou." 

''  I  was  a  traitor  once,"  bej'an  Marini,  "  and  that 
was  when  deceived  by  the  Hue  words  of  yon  fellow," 
pointing  to  liacchus,  '•'•  I  joined  your  cursed  Society. 
1  did  not  then  know  its  real  object ;  still,  1  knew 
enough  to  have  prevented  nie  from  taking  a  secret 
oath.  Tn  that  I  sinned,  and  if  in  atonement  for  my 
offence  (xod  requires  my  life,  I  am  ready  to  lay  it 
down." 

"  Fool !"  sneered  Capodiavolo,  "  fool,  to  talk  thus. 
You  have  been,  I  suppose,  to  confession  lately." 

'' Tliank  God,  I  have,"  quietly  rej)Iied  Marini; 
"  had  I  always  attended  as  J  should  have  done,  1 
would  not  have  taken  the  infamous  oath.  But  that 
is  past,  and  has  been  pardoneil,  I  hope." 

"  What  a  preacher,  to  be  sure  !  Perhaps  you  have 
come  here  to  try  to  corivertus!     Would  you  like 


THE   PL0TTP:RS    AT   WORK. 


115 


US  to  go  to  confession.  Friar  Marin i?"   tauntingly 
said  Capodiavolo. 

Although  I  know  my  words  will  not  produce 
liny  effect  on  your  sin-seared  soul,  I  will  say  this 
much  to  you,"  solenmly  said  Marini.  "  that  a  day  will 
come  when  vou  will  wish  that  vou  had  jjone  to  con- 
fession  regularly.  A  day  will  come  when  you  will 
know  that  you  are  about  to  be  plunged  into  the 
everlasting  punishment  of  hell,  but  on  which  your 
li;il)less  soul  will  still  cling  to  the  demon  that  guided 
it  so  long,  and  which  will  soon  bear  it  oil  to  eternal 
woe.  An  outraged  God  may  bear  patiently  for  a 
time  7/ith  sinners,  for  He  is  eternal  and  can  wait, 
hut  His  day  of  stern  retribution  will  surely^  come." 

"Idiot!"  roared  Ca])odiavolo,  who  began  to  trem- 
l)le,  us  bad  men  often  do — aye,  even  as  the  devils, 
who  "  believe  and  tremble";  *•'  but  I  v.'ill  give  you  one 
chance  for  your  worthless  life.  Here,  trample  upon 
that  cross,  and  curse  the  Pope  and  Church  !"  saying 
this,  lie  threw  down  at  the  feet  of  Marini  a  small 
crucifix  which  he  had  taken  out  of  a  drawer. 

Marini  stooped  reverently,  picked  up  the  crucifix 
and,  pressing  it  to  his  lips,  saiil :  "  O  Jesus,  my 
God  and  my  Saviour,  pardon  my  sins;  have  mercy 
on  me." 

''  Will  you  do  as  I  ask  ?"  questioned  Capodiavolo. 
"Never,  never!  not  for  a  thousand  lives,"  answered 
Marini.  Now  the  object  of  Capodiavolo  was  not 
to  spare  under  any  circumstances  the  life  of  Marini ; 
but  a  diabolical  hate  suggested  to  him  this  scheme, 
so  that  he  might  nuike  him  lose  his  soul  as  well  as 


15 1 


116 


AFTER  WBJART    YEARS. 


m 


lit 


'ill 


riwl 


I*  ' 


i'i<«i 


liis  body.  Capodiavolo  believed  in  an  avenging 
God,  altliougli  he  outraged  him  ;  lie  knew  that  one 
mortal  sin  was  sufficient  to  send  a  soul  to  liell,  if  it 
died  guilty  of  it.  Hence,  lie  luid  hoped  to  induce 
Marini  to  l)las})lienie  Clirist  and  his  (church,  and 
then  to  cut  hiin  of!  hiden  witli  these  crimes.  See- 
ing himself  frustrated  in  this,  lie  turned  to  Minos, 
saying:  "  Do  your  duty,  Judge." 

Minos  then  said  that  Marini,  "being  convicted  of 
l)eing  a  traitor  to  the  society,  was  condemned  to  ;i 
slow  and  lingering  death  by  tlie  hand  of  their  noble 
master,  Capodiavolo."  Here  Minos  handed  the 
rusty  stiletto  to  Capodiavolo,  and  told  Oecco  to 
watch  the  proceed i no's. 

Capodiavolo,  flourishing  the  stiletto,  began: 
"Once  more,  Marini,  I  ask  you  to  curse  the  Pope 
and  the  Church,  and  you  may  yet  be  saved." 

"  Once  more  I  tell  you,  monsters,"  retorted 
Marini.  "  that  I  shall  never  try  to  save  my  life  by 
con'.mitting  a  sin.  God  is  my  witness  that  I  die 
for  love  of  Ilim." 

A  noble  look  of  enthusiastic  devotion  lit  up  his 
countenance;  he  stood  calmlv  amonirst  the  auijry 
crowd.  Minos  and  Mars  seized  him,  one  on  each 
side,  and  Ca})odiavolo  advanced  to  his  infernal  work. 
Many  a  one  had  he  killed  with  his  own  haiul  in  this 
same  place.  lie  knew  how  and  where  to  stab,  so  as 
to  prolong  the  death-agony ;  he  fairly  gloated  over 
liis  work.  He  gave  one  sharp  thrust  at  Marini's 
elbow.  Either  the  pain,  or  an  instinct  of  self- 
defence,  caused  the  latter  to  start.  With  one  quick 
twist  of  the  body  he  freed  himself  from  the  grasp 


THE   PLOTTERS    AT    WORK. 


117 


of   Minos   and  Mars.     Putting  hurriedly  into   his 
niouth  the  crucifix,  which  he  liad  hitherto  kept  in 
his  hands,  he  seized  from  the  ground  an  arm  of  the 
hroken   Faun,  and  with  one  well-directed  lAow  at 
Minos,  who  was  rushing  on  him,  he  stretched  him 
on  the  floor.     With  a  bitter  curse,  such  as  a  demon 
bestows  on  a  ]>riest  when  chased  bv  him  from   the 
d\\uor  bed   of  one  who   had   lonijc  been   ids  slave, 
Capodiavolo  sprang  forward  and  made  a  lunge  a^ 
Mariui's  heart.     J>ut  the  marble  arm  was  already 
poised  in  the  air,  and  it  fell  on  the  nnirderer's  wrist, 
causing  the  rusty  stiletto  to  drop  on   the  ground. 
A  loud  shout  was  now  heard  at  the  door  of  the  den  ; 
torches    gleamed,  and    swords     glittered.      Three 
Zouaves  and   two   Gensd'armes   rushed  (piickly  in. 
Capodiavolo  took  in  the  ])osition  at  glance.     Resist- 
ance was  out  of  the  question  ;  nothing  for  it  but  to 
escape.     Giving  the  word  to  his  companions,  they 
easily  in  the  confusion  slipped  out,  while  the  sol- 
diers were  binding    the    three  who    had   brought 
Marini,  and  poor  Cecco,  who  was  almost  dead  witii 
fear.     Minos  had  been   able  to  rise  and  to  escape 
with  the  rest  of  the  "  Council."     Marini,  seeing 
himself  safe,  threw  down  the  marble  arm,  and,  tak- 
ing the  crucifix  from  his  mouth,  kissed  the  thorn- 
crowned  head   of  the    Saviour.     Having    tied  the 
prisoners  together,  the  soldiers  with  drawn  swords 
and  pistols  in  hand  quickly  left  the  plotters'  den. 


c 


^^^ 

'  iHM 

IM 

118 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


CHAPTER  YIII. 


IN   THE   BARRACKS. 


The  streets  of  Rome,  if  properly  studied  at  an 
early  hour  in  the  morning,  will  afford  much  quiet 
enjoyment.  It  is  not  that  they  present  the  trim  as- 
pect of  the  Parisian  boulevards,  along  which  shady 
trees  stretch  out  fantastic  shadows,  and  down  whose 
gutters  a  bubljling  rill  runs  quickly  off,  an  expres- 
sive image  of  the  stream  of  human  beings  who  daily 
roll  on  to  the  great  ocean  of  eternity, — but  it  is  on 
account  of  the  people  we  may  meet  tiiereon.  It  is 
an  April  morning;  the  sun  is  mounting  slowly  over 
the  house-tops  and  peering  gleefully  down  on  the 
well-paved  streets.  Already  his  beams  are  laden 
with  a  genial  warmth  that  causes  buds  to  burst 
open,  leaves  to  expand,  and  spring  flowers  to  bloom 
in  their  fresh  loveliness.  Scavengers,  around  whose 
persons  tattered  garments  hang  with  the  grace  of  a 
toga  on  Mark  Antony's  statue,  sweep  the  streets 
with  a  bundle  of  twigs  bound  to  the  end  of  a  long 
pole.  Poetry  and  art  are  in  their  every  posture ; 
grace  and  beauty  in  their  every  movement.  It  is  a 
great  thing  when  even  the  lowest  stratum  of  society 
can  appreciate  and  enjoy  art  and  beauty.  What  a  re- 
fining effect  the  grand  old  churches  of  Rome  have 
on  its  inhabitants!  They  breathe  continually  an 
atmosphere  of  art  over  the  whole  city,  and  throw  an 


IN  THE  BARRACKS. 


119 


ennobling  influence  around  the  cradles  of  the  low- 
liest workman.  Watch  those  scaven(];ers  :  they  do 
not  use  their  brooms  with  that  dull,  inartistic  sweep 
of  their  London  fellow-criiftsmen,  nor  with  the  ex- 
cited, irregular  wave  of  their  Dublin  brethren  :  no, 
but  as  they  hum  an  air  from  II  Trovatore  they  make 
it  gently  describe  lines  of  beauty  and  grace,  such  as 
many  an  artist  faiii  would  copy.  Doubtless  they  are 
slower  at  their  work  than  most  other  people ;  but 
what  of  that?  Ts  not  the  refining  influence  of  their 
manner  more  desirable  than  gold  ?  Tf  Raphael,  or 
Michel-Auijelo,  or  Bramante  or  anv  ^>ne  of  their 
great  countrymen  had  been  in  a  hurry,  where  would 
be  our  art  treasures  in  oil,  or  stone,  or  towering 
dome  ? 

Creaking  dust-carts,  drawn  by  a  degraded-looking 
species  of  oxen  known  as  huffali,  lumber  along.  Tt 
would  be  an  interesting  study  for  a  veterinarian  to 
watch  the  habits  of  these  hopoless-looking  cattle. 
Domestic  economy  might  be  greatly  l)enefitedby  his 
investigations.  We  give  it  as  our  opinion,  founded 
on  a  fair  experience,  that  these  creatures  never  eat : 
we  have  seen  them  at  early  morn,  beneath  the  mid-day 
sun,  and  when  the  shades  of  niuflit  were  stealing 
over  the  earth  like  the  shadow  of  doath  enterins:  a 
sick-room,  and  never  did  we  find  the  smallest  tra^?e 
of  food  near  them.  They  will  haul  great  blocks  of 
marble;  then,  while  the  drivers  are  at  meals,  they 
will  stund  yoked  together,  with  that  patient,  hope- 
less look  sometimes  seen  on  the  faces  of  an  ill-assort- 
ed couple.  Once  we  saw  a  tough  old  fellow  licking 
up  some  marble-dust  near  the  ruins  of  the  Temple 


1) 


120 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


r?;,^^? 


of  Peace ;  unless  they  live  on  that,  they  do  not  eat 
at  all. 

Bakers  are  hurrying  along,  carrying  on  theii- 
shoulders  great  baskets  of  bread.  Stern  ainazons, 
brown  and  battered  as  the  stones  of  the  Colosseuni, 
saunter  past,  bearing  pails  filled  with  living  snails, 
which  they  announce  for  sale  in  a  cracked  voice, 
not  unlike  the  sound  emitted  by  a  broken  reed  in- 
strument. The  frog  merchant,  bluff  and  burly,  calls 
forth  his  wares  in  a  deep  bass  voice.  A  clear  tenor 
announces  that  the  vendor  of  Aqua  Acetosa,  a  min- 
eral water  jwocurable  not  far  from  Rome,  is  passing. 
At  every  corner  one  meets  a  drove  of  goats  kept  in 
order  by  a  gootherd.  At  lirst  sight  it  puzzles  one 
somewhat  to  account  for  this  phenomenon.  That 
one  should  meet  droves  of  goats  on  the  hillsides 
around  Rome  would  be  quite  natural,  and  eminently 
fitting  ;  ])ut  to  meet  them  in  the  centre  of  a  city, 
where  not  a  blade  t)f  grass  is  to  be  seen,  is,  to  say 
the  least,  puzzling.  J)Ut  this  phenomenon  has  its 
explanation,  and  a  satisfactory  one  it  is.  It  argues 
ingenuity  in  two  classes  of  persons,  viz.:  the  buyers 
and  sellers  of  milk.  Watch  this  goatherd  whom  yon 
iiave  just  met:  arriving  in  front  of  yon  house  hv. 
gives  the  word  to  lialt,  and  the  obedient  herd  conies 
to  a  stand-still;  giving  his  well-known  pull  to  the 
bell-handle  he  walks  leisurely  back  to  the  nearest 
goat  and  begins  to  milk  her  just  as  the  servant  an- 
swers the  ring ;  in  a  minute  he  hands  over  the  pint  or 
quart  of  foaming  milk,  receives  his  money,  and  starts 
on  his  goats  to  the  door  of  his  next  customer.  What 
a  simple  and  effectual  plan  for  securing  pure  milk ! 


!'(| 


IN  THE  BARRACKS. 


121 


What  an  easy  method  of  carrying  it  around  I     Sel 
ler  and  buyer  are  alike  benefited  by  this  system. 
Milk  companies  in  London  and  elsewhere  that  aim  at 
guaranteeing  unadulterated  milk  might  take  a  hmt 
from  the  Romans. 

On  this  April  morning  Peppe,  whom  we  left  on 
the  road  to  Rome  last  October  with  his  vouna:  mas- 
ter  Lorenzo,  was  quietly  threading  his  way  from 
Piazza  Navona  to  Castel  San  Angelo.  He  had  in- 
sisted on  joining  the  Zouaves,  but  reluctantly  ex- 
changed his  old  flint-lock  gun  for  a  Remington  rifle. 
Now,  however,  he  was  'svery  inch  a  soldier,  and 
conld  use  his  rifle  with  great  effect ;  he  was  the  life 
of  a  company  in  barracks;  his  love  of  fun,  faculty 
of  imitation,  and  good  nature  made  him  beloved  by 
all.  No  danger  of  a  company's  being  out  of  spirits 
when  he  was  present ;  he  could  play  all  games,  teach 
all  tricks,  sing  serious  or  comic  songs.  When  taking 
his  daily  measure  of  common  wine  at  a  restaurant, 
he  made  himself  agreeable  to  all  present  by  his  run- 
ning fire  of  jokes.  At  one  of  these  places  he  over- 
heard Minos  giving  directions  to  his  three  followers 
to  seize  young  Marini,  and  to  bring  him  to  the  Den. 

Suspecting  from  the  appearance  of  the  parties 
that  all  was  not  right,  he  at  once  informed  Lorenzo 
and  Morgan.  They,  taking  with  them  Peppe  and 
two  police  officers,  followed  the  ruffians  who  were 
kidnapping  Marini,  and  rushed  into  the  Den  to  his 
rescue.  Since  that  time  Marini  had  joined  the  Zou- 
aves, and  had  become  a  fast  friend  of  his  deliverers. 
His  captors  were  condemned  to  the  galleys  ;  Cecco, 
against  whom  there  was  no  charge,  was  set  free,  and 
6 


122 


AFTER  WBART  YEARS. 


If- 


I'lii 


M 


cautioned  to  avoid  the  members  of  the  secret  society. 
As  we  shall  see,  his  soul  was  too  craven  to  disregard 
the  threats  of  Capodiavolo,  although  he  loathed  the 
impious  object  of  his  designs. 

Peppe  walked  briskly  along  when  he  neared  the 
bridge  of  San  Angelo,  and,  saluting  the  sentinel  at 
the  gate  of  the  Castel,  entered  the  enclosure.  He 
walked  towards  two  persons  who  were  seated  on  a 
grassy  knoll,  having  jnst  finished  polishing  their 
accoutrements.  "  Well,  Peppe,"  said  the  voice  of 
Lorenzo,  "you  were  out  early  this  morning;  per- 
haps you  were  shut  out  all  night." 

"  Oibo !  much  fear  of  that,"  laughed  Peppe ; 
"  this  is  not  the  place,  my  young  master,  where  one 
can  roam  at  liberty.  When  we  were  out  on  tlie 
hills  of  Marino,  I  could  pick  up  my  old  gun,  call 
my  dog,  and  go  my  ways  without  asking  permission 
of  any  one.  No  fear,  then,  of  a  court-martial  even 
if  I  remained  away  all  night.  But  here  one  must 
wait  until  such  an  hour,  and  i*eturn  at  such  another 
hour,  that  it  makes  one  feel  like  a  slave.'' 

This  last  sentence  contains  the  reason  of  an 
Italian's  dislike  to  a  soldier's  life :  it  is  not  cow- 
ardice ;  it  is  not  a  dread  of  fatigue,  but  it  is  an 
unwillingness  to  be  restricted  and  hampered  by 
rules  of  unbending  severity. 

"I  don't  pity  you,  Peppe,"  said  Lorenzo;  "I 
wanted  you  to  remain  at  home  and  to  take  care  of 
father.  Had  you  taken  my  advice,  you  could  still 
snap  your  old  gun  every  hour  of  the  day.  Do  you 
often  weep  for  £he  loss  of  your  gun,  Peppe  ?" 

"Ah!  Master  Lorenzo,  you  may  laugh  at  my 


^-i 


IN  THE  BABRA0K8. 


123 


fondness  for  it,  but  one  naturally  loves  that  which 
lias  helped  to  save  a  loved  life.     It  saved  your  life 


» 


once. 

"  Well,  I  must  say  that  this  is  news,  Pcppe :  do 
you  hear  that,  Morgan,"  said  he,  turning  to  his 
companion.  "  I  have  told  you  of  Peppe's  attempts 
at  shooting  birds,  and  gave  it  as  my  opinion  that  his 
gun  never  once  struck  fire  ;  but  it  seems  I  was  mis- 
taken.    It  shot  something  that  threatened  my  life." 

"  I  did  not  say  that.  Master  Lorenzo ;  but  once 
when  you  were  small  an  angry  dog  rushed  at  you. 
I  was  near;  I  snapped  the  gun,  but  somehow  it 
missed  lire ;  then  I  ran  at  the  dog,  and  knocked 
him  over  with  a  blow  struck  with  its  butt." 

"That  was  just  as  good,"  began  Morgan,  "as  if 
you  had  sent  a  thousand  shot  through  his  brains ; 
but  what  news  did  you  hear  ?" 

"Not  much,  Mr.  Morgan;  it  is  pretty  certain 
tliat  Capodiavolo  is  still  in  Rome,  but  the  sectaries 
keep  very  quiet.  On  account  of  the  great  number 
of  foreign  bishops  and  others  who  will  be  here  next 
June  to  celebrate  the  eighteenth  century  of  St. 
Peter,  it  is  not  likely  that  they  will  make  any  nove- 
ment  until  vStev  that  time.  This  much  I  have 
picked  up." 

"  Why  will  they  keep  quiet  until  after  that  cele- 
bration ?"  questioned  Morgan.  "  Is  it  out  of  respect 
to  St.  Peter?" 

"  Oibo !  (a  favorite  exclamation  with  Peppe, 
liaving  the  force  of  our  English — the  mischiefs  no) 
—Oibo,  Mr.  Morgan,  not  likely ;  those  fellows 
respect  the  devil  more  than  any  one  else  j  at  least, 


124 


AFTER  WBART  TEARS. 


they  obey  him  better.  But,  from  what  I  can  learn, 
they  fear  to  make  any  disturbance  during  that 
time,  lest  foreign  governments  should  interfere." 

Peppe,  being  dismissed,  trudged  off,  and  soon 
might  be  heard  imitating,  for  the  benefit  of  liis 
comrades,  the  conversations  he  heard  in  the  restau- 
rants. Now,  he  assumed  the  deep  bass  voice  of  a 
burly  butcher;  now,  tlie  soft  tenor  of  a  low  com- 
edian ;  now,  the  harsh  tones  of  a  wealthy  drover, 
and  now  the  shrill  treble  of  a  scolding  snail-woman. 
So  quickly  and  naturally  did  he  pass  from  one 
character  to  another  that  any  one  standing  outside 
of  the  room  would  never  suspect  that  there  was  but 
one  actor.  He  was  in  no  sense  of  the  word  a  spy ; 
but  in  his  daily  rounds  he  did  not  scruple  to  find 
out  as  much  as  he  could  concerning  the  doings  of 
the  revolutionists.  He  never  feigned  to  belong  to 
them  ;  but  his  pleasing  manners  and  ready  wit  made 
him  popular  everywhere,  and  a  few  well-timed 
questions  generally  gained  him  more  or  less  infor- 
mation. 

When  left  to  themselves  Morgan  and  Lorenzo 
resumed  their  interrupted  conversation.  They 
were  seated  on  a  grassy  mound  that  overlooked  the 
bastion  of  the  fort  towards  the  river.  Castel  San 
Angelo  was  then  the  chief  fort  in  or  around  Rome. 
It  is  the  huge  mausoleum  which  the  Emperor 
Hadrian  built  to  hold  his  mortal  clay  after  death. 
The  lower  part  is  formed  of  immense  blocks  of 
stone,  with  a  lining  of  cemented  brick.  The  shape 
is  circular ;  the  upper  part  is  more  modern,  having 
been  built  during  the  Middle  Ages.    Beneath  are 


<M\ 


IN  THE  BAERAOKS. 


126 


strong  vaults  for  the  storage  of  munitions  of  war. 
Aloft,  on  a  high  pedestal  rising  from  the  centre  of 
the  building,  is  a  bronze  statue  of  St.  Michael 
sheathing  a  sword :  hence  the  name  of  Castel  San 
Angelo.  It  is  related  in  history  that,  during  a 
plague  in  Rome,  Pope  St.  Gregory  the  Great  was 
heading  a  solemn  procession  from  St.  John  Lat- 
eran  to  St.  Peter's.  All  were  imploring  God, 
with  te.ars  and  penitential  cries,  to  stay  the  work- 
ings of  His  wrath.  When  opposite  this  spot,  St. 
Michael  appeared  in  the  air,  sheathing  a  sword, 
and  the  joyous  words  of  the  liegina  Coeli  floated 
through  the  atmosphere.  Immediately  the  plague 
ceased,  and  in  commemoration  of  this  event  the 
bronze  figure  of  St.  Michael  has  long  surmounted 
the  once  pagan  sepulchre. 

The  Castel,  or  fort,  is  situated  on  the  right  bank 
of  the  Tiber,  not  far  from  the  foot  of  the  Vatican 
hill.  A  covered  way  leads  from  it  to  the  Vatican 
Palace.  Before  the  invention  of  the  murderous 
war  instruments  of  recent  years,  the  Castel  could 
offer  a  stubborn  resistance,  and  during  some  of  the 
troubles  in  the  Middle  Ages  it  afforded  a  safe  asy- 
lum to  the  Popes.  The  enclosure  around  about  it 
is  fortified  with  walls  and  bastions,  forming  a  series 
of  outer  forts,  well  mounted  with  cannon.  Com- 
manding as  it  does  the  bridge  of  San  Angelo  and 
the  river,  it  would  be  a  strong  point  during  a  civic 
outbreak. 

As  the  two  friends  sat  on  this  historic  ground 
gazing  dreamily  on  the  yellow  Tiber  that  ran  swiftly 
past,  they  spoke  of  many  things.    Lorenzo,  who  was 


o 


126 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


l! 


.-'■ 


f  n 


ill 


more  fully  acquainted  with  Italian  history  and  popu- 
lar legends  than  Morgan,  had  hecn  giviiif^  him  some 
details  about  the  Castel  and  its  past  story. 

"  Now,"  said  Morgan,  "  tell  mc  just  how  the 
present  army  organization  i)ogan.  I  know  in  a 
general  way,  of  course,  but  I  want  more  particu- 
lars." 

"They  are  easily  given,  Morgan.  When  the  Pope 
had  to  leave  Rome  in  1848  everything  was  turned 
upside  down.  These  revolutionists  are  great  fellows 
at  pulling  to  pieces;  they  beat  the  rag-pickers  in 
that  respect.  In  a  very  short  time  they  managed  to 
disorganize  everything.  Antonelli  and  Hossi  coul<l 
build  up,  and  would  have  built  up,  a  great  and  pro- 
gressive government,  if  those  red-handed  villains 
had  remained  quiet." 

"  True,  Lorenzo ;  but  the  object  of  the  revo- 
lutionists was  not,  I  suppose,  the  good  of  the  peo- 
ple?" 

"Of  that  you  may  be  quite  sure;  what  they 
wanted  was  to  dethrone  the  Pope,  to  overthrow  re- 
ligion, rnd  to  rule  over  the  masses.  They  caused 
Rossi  to  be  assaosinatcd  on  the  steps  of  the  Caneel- 
leria,  and  besiegovl  the  Pope  in  the  Quirinal.  This 
is  enough  to  show  what  their  designs  were.  "Well, 
the  army  of  France  scattered  the  revolutionary 
hordes,  and  Pius  IX.  returned.  He  found  every- 
thing unhinged  and  an  enormous  debt,  but  not  of 
his  own  contracting.  Antonelli,  whose  name  will 
go  down  to  all  time  in  Church  history  as  the  most 
able  and  heroic  of  statesmen,  set  to  work  to  bi'ing 
order  out  of  the  chaos.     The  different  departments 


m  THE   BARRACKS. 


127 


of  the  public  service  were  organized,  the  debt  paid 
off,  and  tlie  taxes  lightened." 

"How  different  from  other  countries!"  inter 
riipted  Morgan  ;  "  taxes  are  generally  increased,  and 
public  debts  rarely  diminish.  Yet  people  cry  out 
against  the  government  of  the  Pope.  What  do  they 
mean?  Is  not  that  government  the  best  under 
which  a  people,  for  the  smallest  amount  of  taxes, 
enjoy  the  largest  share  of  tem})oral  blessings  hap- 
pily subordinated  to  eternal  felicity  ?  We  boast 
and  with  some  show  of  reason,  too,  that  under  the 
British  Empire  we  are  free.  Our  young  Dominion 
secures  many  advantages  to  its  citizens,  but  often 
British  freedom  is  more  theoretic  than  practical. 
Under  the  Pope,  however,  there  is  liberty  in  its 
fullest  and  most  legitimate  sense,  with  light  taxes 
and  an  extinguished  public  debt." 

"Do  not  get  excited,  Morgan;  you  will  scarcely 
convert  the  prejudiced  against  our  holy  religion  by 
any  arguments.  They  will  cry  out  against  the 
government  of  the  Pope,  let  it  be  what  it  will,  simply 
because  it  is  the  government  of  the  Pope.  Wh}', 
some  of  your  bigoted  dunderpates  have  only  one 
principle  of  arguing — viz.,  to  oppose  whatever  Rome 
does." 

"  You  are  always  hard,  Lorenzo,  on  these  people. 
Many  of  them  do  not  merit  your  reproaches  ;  they 
are  blinded  by  the  atmosphere  of  prejudice  that  was 
thrown  round  their  cradles.  Living  in  Italy,  you 
cannot  understand  how  much  these  people  have  to 
contend  against.  I  have  personal  friends  who,  be- 
fore thev  became  acquainted  with  me,  had  the  most 


),- 


1) 


w 


128 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


Ill 


II :. 
Ii'l 


absurd  notions  about  Catholics.  As  for  a  Catholic 
priest,  they  almost  expected  to  see  his  brow  adorned 
witli  horns." 

"  Well,  let  them  use  their  reason  a,  little.  After 
they  became  acquainted  with  you  they  learned  tliat 
your  religion  was  quite  different  from  what  it  had 
been  represented ;  they  thus  learned,  too,  that  their 
own  could  only  he  justified  in  the  supposition  that 
yours  was  what  they  had  been  taught.  If  revela- 
tion is  to  be  accepted,  it  must  have  remained  pure 
always;  hence,  our  religion  could  never  have  been 
corrupt;  it  must,  therefore,  be  true.  Theirs,  being 
opposed  to  what  is  true,  must  be  false." 

"Yes,  yes,  Lorenzo,  you  are,  like  "all  Italians, 
logical ;  an  Italian  will  never  be  a  Protestant.  If 
he  falls  from  the  Church  he  will  become  an  infidel ; 
he  is  quick  enough  to  see  that  if  there  be  any  true 
religion  it  must  be  ours  ;  but  Englishmen  are  dnller. 
They  are  imposed  upon  by  an  easily  discovered 
sham.  As  for  the  Scotch,  the  Calvinistic  principle 
has  given  such  a  twist  to  their  intellect  that  it  has 
left  an  impress  on  their  faces — a  dark,  glooiny,  dreary 
look.     But  continue  about  the  army  organization." 

"After  the  departments  of  the  civil  service  had 
been  put  in  working  order,"  resumed  Lorenzo, 
"attention  was  turned  to  the  militarj'.  At  the 
Congress  in  Faris  in  1856,  at  the  end  of  the  Crimean 
war,  a  cowardly  attack  was  made  on  the  Pope's 
government.  Cavour,  as  wily  a  knave  as  ever 
breathed  Italian  air,  was  planning  a  scheme  for  a 
United  Italy.  It  was  sought  to  discredit  the  Ponti- 
fical government  in  the  eyes  of  Europe.    Antonelli 


m   THE  BARRACKS. 


129 


divined  the  plots  of  the  revolutionists,  and  sought 
to  form  a  force  sufficient  to  keep  order  within  the 
Roman  States.  Lamori?iere,  a  man  who  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  Algiers,  a  true  soldier  and  a 
Christian,  placed  his  honorable  sword  at  the  service 
of  the  Holy  See.  He  at  once  set  about  forming  a 
corps  of  soldiers  on  the  plan  of  the  Algerian 
Zouaves,  and  hence  our  regiment.  He  and  Pimo- 
dan  were  the  fathers  of  the  present  Pontifical  army. 
You  know  how  persons  from  all  countries  flocked 
to  range  themselves  under  the  Pope's  standard  in 
1859.  Ireland  sent  her  brigade,  and  slashing  fel- 
lows they  were.  France,  Belgium,  and  other 
countries  did  the  same.  In  1860  the  Pope's  terri- 
iories  were  invaded.  Around  Spoleto  and  Castel- 
fidardo  our  soldiers  saved  their  honor,  though  they 
could  not  save  the  integrity  of  the  Pontifical  States. 
Pimodan  lost  his  life  on  the  field ;  Lamoriciere  is 
since  dead,  but  their  work  lives.  Our  present 
Colonel  Aliec,  and  his  able  lieutenant.  Da  Charette, 
are,  as  you  knowy  consolidating  and  increasing  the 
Pope's  army.  Ere  long,  Morgan,  we  wili  be  called 
on  to  draw  in  defence  of  Holv  Church's  cause."  A 
gleam  of  enthusiasm  lighted  up  Lorenzo's  face  as  he 
said  these  last  words.  It  was  easy  to  see  that,  if  he 
did  ever  draw,  it  would  not  be  in  vain. 

"I  am  not,"  slowly  began  Morgan,  "the  first 
Canadian  who  has  taken  up  arms  for  the  Pope  ;  Mur- 
ray— you  have  seen  him — and  Laroque  have  been 
here  some  years;  but  when  the  hour  of  battle 
comes  I  shall  not  be  the  last  to  charge." 

"I  know  it,  Morgan  ;  I  can  see  it  in  the  glow  of 
6* 


Isi^mfll 


m-'^ 


130 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


PI' 


that  bright  eye  of  yours :  but  now  let  us  stroll  round 
the  enclosure."  Arm  in  arm  they  sauntered  around  ; 
everything  was  clean  and  bright.  The  corps  of 
Zouaves,  which  at  this  time  numbered  about  4000 
men,  comprised  persons  of  every  country  and  condi- 
tion of  life.  It  was  a  miniature  of  the  Church. 
Nobles  and  peasants  stood  side  by  side  in  the  ranks, 
and  even  princes  marched  in  the  same  line  with 
those  of  humble  birtli.  It  was  not  an  uncommon 
sight  to  meet  a  captain  and  a  private  arm  in  arm ; 
this  would  be  a  seven  davs'  wonder  in  Enorland,  but 
here  it  never  excited  surprise.  Perhaps  the  private 
was,  in  civic  life,  higher  in  the  social  scale  than  his 
captain ;  perhaps  they  were  brothers,  or  intimate 
friends  who  had  left  a  pleasant  home  to  serve  the  • 
cause  of  the  Holy  See.  De  Charette,  the  popular 
lieutenant,  was  the  ideal  of  a  noble  soldier.  Hand- 
some and  strongly  built,  the  blue-gray  Zouave 
trousers,  close-fitting  round  jacket,  and  small  cap 
lent  an  air  of  strength  and  lightness  to  his  whole 
person.  He  was  a  worthy  descendant  of  the  gallant 
Charette,  whose  name  is  linked  with  the  mournful 
glory  of  the  Yendean  War.  A  lion  in  the  fight,  he 
was  a  meek  and  devout  worshipper  in  the  Church. 
Some  Catholic  young  men  who  are  ashamed  to  be 
Been  performing  an  act  of  piety  should  have  seen, 
as  we  have  often  seen,  this  gallant  soldier  making  a 
visit  to  the  most  Holy  Sacrament,  and  then  clanking 
along  to  the  Altar  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  before 
which  he  knelt  in  humble  prayer  for  a  short  time. 
He  knew  well  that  true  courage  and  piety  should 
adorn  the  Christian  soMier. 


IN  THE  BARRACKS. 


131 


As  Lorenzo  and  Morgan  came  to  a  spot  which 
looked  directly  down  into  the  Tiber,  the  former 
spoke : 

"  Is  your  great  St.  Lawrence  much  larger  than  old 
Tiber?" 

"  Oh  dear,  yes !  in  one  of  its  waves  there  is  as 
much  water  as  there  is  in  this  whole  river.  In 
many  places  it  is  miles  in  width.  I  used  to  read  so 
much  about  the  Tiber  in  the  classics  that  I  imagined 
it  must  be  larger  than  the  St.  Lawrence.  Actually 
I  was  disgusted  when  I  first  looked  upon  it — it  was 
so  narrow  and  yellow.    Still,  it  has  great  memories." 

"  When  I  stand  gazing  on  a  river,"  half-soliloquized 
Lorenzo,  "  I  always  seem  to  be  trying  to  catch  some- 
thing that  flees  from  my  mind.  It  seems  to  me  that 
I  used  once,  long  ago,  to  gaze  upon  a  great,  wide 
liver,  but  I  can  recall  nothing  distinctly.  Perhaps 
it  was  only  some  mountain  torrent  that  appeared 
mighty  to  my  young  mind." 

"  That  may  be,  Lorenzo,  for  size  is  but  relative : 
however,  I  trust  you  will  one  day  look  on  our  noble 
St.  Lawrence.  What  a  consolation  you  would  be  to 
that  poor  Mrs.  Barton  about  whom  I  told  you  !  I 
am  sure  she  would  love  you  very  much." 

"  Well,  I  think  it  would  be  mutual ;  even  now  I 
almost  look  upon  her  as  a  mother.  Since  you  first 
told  me  about  her  I  have  often  pictured  her  to  my- 
self, sitting  near  her  door  holding  the  cap  of  her 
lost  son.  What  a  sad  lot  hers  must  have  been  ?  the 
only  marks  in  her  quiet  life  are  those  sorrowful 
anniversaries.  Her  grief  litis  grown  into  her  exist- 
ence, and  will  never  depart." 


■,1 


132 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


"  Unless  her  son  returns,"  said  Morgan. 

"Ah !  it  is  scarcely  possible  after  so  many  years ; 
but  she  still  hopes,  you  say." 

"  Yes,  and  it  seems  to  me^  at  times,  that  she  must 
be  right." 

Tliere  was  but  one  reservation  between  these  two 
friends:  Lorenzo  had  never  told  Morgan  about  the 
photograph  given  him  by  his  father,  of  a  fair  young 
child.  Often  he  was  on  the  point  of  doing  it,  but 
Morgan's  grave  manner  made  him  half-ashamed  to 
speak  of  what  appeared  so  trifling.  He  was  on  the 
point  of  speaking  now,  but  the  drum  called  them  to 
their  quarters. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


THE  DREW  FAMILY  IN  ROME. 

"Kow,  girls,  hurry  up  there;  it  is  nearly  nine 
o'clock.  Me  and  Daniel  were  ready  long  ago. 
"Where's  Washy  ?  Out  chewing  tobacco,  or  guzzling 
wine,  I'll  bet.  If  we  are  going  to  see  all  them  won- 
ders as  we  were  told  about,  it's  about  time  we 
began.     Are  you  ready  yet  ?" 

"  Oh,  la !  ma,  don't  make  such  an  uproar.  They 
will  think  us  horribly  vulgar;  do  be  quiet  for  a 
little." 

"  Yes,  ma,  don't  arouse  all  the  house ;  it  is  not  the 
polite  thing  to  be  getting  ready  to  go  out  at  this 
awfully  early  hour." 

"Oh,  bother  politeness  now!  "What  on  earth  do 
Italians  know  about  that,?    Didn't  our  deacon  say 


THE  DREW  FAMILY   IN   ROME. 


138 


that  the  Romans  are  ignorant  and  barbarous !  Why 
do  they  put  figures  of  them  old  heathen  gods  around 
their  pumps,  leastwise  fountains  I  mean,  if  they 
are  not  barbarous  ?  Perhaps  they  are  heathens  like- 
wise. I  wish  Mrs.  Hezekiah  Flintwood,  the  presi- 
dent of  our  Bible  Society,  was  here.  Me  and  her 
would  distribute  a  few  Bibles  among  the  benighted 
barbarians.  Instead  of  the  fandangos  we  heard  last 
night  at  them  vespers,  as  you  call  them,  we'd  learn 
them  to  sing,  'Send  down  sal — send  down  sal — 
send  down  salvation  from  the  skies,'  with  *  Glory 
hallellujah '  at  the  end.'    But  make  ready  at  once." 

"  I  always  did  say,  ma,  that  you  would  be  better 
at  home ;  it  bores  one  so  dreadfully  to  be  thought 
vulgar." 

"  Yes,  ma,  and  only  vulgar  people  now  call  the 
Italians  barbarous.  Do  remember  that  we  are  mak- 
ing the  grand  tour,  and  must  show  ouiselves  equal 
to  our  position," 

"  That's  the  way  you  always  try  to  put  me  down 
with  them  boarding-school  notions  of  yours.  Don't 
everybody  know  that  the  United  States  can  whip 
creation  ?  Isn't  any  of  our  citizens  better  than  any 
king  in  Europe  ?  But  I  wont  say  no  more.  Now 
then,  just  you  two  hurry  along." 

The  above  conversation  took  place  in  the  Hotel 
d'Amerique  at  Rome  early  in  January  1867.  The 
speakers  were  Mrs.  Drew  and  her  two  daughters ; 
the  former  was  shaking  the  door  of  a  bedroom  while 
she  spoke,  and  the  voices  of  her  daughters  came 
from  within.  Poor  Mrs.  Drew  meant  well ;  she 
only  reflected,   perhaps  slightly  exaggerated,   the 


i) 

o 


134 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


tone  and  sentiments  of  many  a  newspaper  in  the 
United  States.  It  is  impossible  to  make  a  Euro- 
pean understand  the  Inige  national  delusion  under 
which  our  Republican  neiglibors  labor.  Devoid  of 
all  the  ennobling  influences  of  the  fine  arts,  devoid, 
with  the  exception  of  a  very  few  works,  of  a  respect- 
able literature,  flooded  with  trashy  novels,  the 
sickly  product  of  a  vicious  school  system,  and  with 
newnpapers  in  which  one  may  look  in  vain  for  a 
sc'ten  --  of  parsable  English,  with  little  security  for 
lii'e,  aud  too  often  with  purchasable  justice  presid- 
1'  g  over  criminal  tribunals,  this  people  imagine 
themseives  lords  of  creation,  and  chatter  about  the 
"efltete  despotisms  of  Europe."  It  is  little  wonder, 
then,  that  Mrs.  Drew  had  not  as  yet  cast  her  national 
coat ;  for  her  the  Italians  were  the  '*  ignorant  bar- 
barians" whom  she  had  so  often  heard  despised  by 
rural  deacons. 

Mr.  Drew,  being  naturally  shrewd  and  observant, 
had  not  failed  to  detect  some  symptoms  of  life  and 
greatness  in  the  various  countries  through  which  he 
had  travelled.  He  was  not  quite  prepared  to  rank 
them  in  the  same  line  with  the  United  States ;  still, 
his  ideas  regarding  "  effete  despotisms  of  Europe" 
had  undergone  %  great  change.  He  was  now  walk- 
ing around  the  court-yard  of  the  hotel  closely  watch- 
ing the  actions  of  three  or  four  persons  of  the  lower 
class  who  were  standing  inside  the  ^archway,  and 
who  appeared  to  be  greatly  excited.  Two  of  them 
were  standing  facing  each  other  about  a  yard  apart. 
Each  had  his  right  foot  considerably  in  advance  and 
hie  body  bent  forward.    They  were  looking  intently 


THE  DREW  FAMILY  IN  ROME. 


136 


in  each  others'  eyes,  and  jerking  rapidly  foi*ward 
their  right  hands,  calling  out  at  the  same  time  some 
number  such  as  "  five — nine — seven."  Sometimes 
tliey  would  cease  for  a  moment  the  jerking  of  their 
hands,  and  one  would  give  a  cent  to  the  other;  at 
other  times  the  hand-jerking  would  stop,  but  a  loud 
angry  clatter  of  tongues  would  ensue :  after  a  gen- 
eral hubbub  they  would  begin  again,  glaring  more 
fiercely  than  ever  into  each  others'  eyes.  Mr.  Drew 
was  at  a  loss  to  understand  what  they  meant ;  evi- 
dently they  followed  some  settled  plan  and  were  in 
earnest.  Inquiring  of  one  of  the  waiters,  he  learned 
that  they  were  engaged  in  a  game  of  Morra,  a  game 
which  divides  the  affections  of  the  lower  class  with 
Bocce.  The  former  is  said  to  have  been  invented 
by  Fabius  Maximus,  to  divert  his  soldiers  during 
their  long  period  of  inaction,  when  by  his  policy  of 
delay  he  conquered.  Each  one  as  he  jerks  out  his 
right  hand  extends  one  or  more  of  his  fingers,  and 
calls  out  some  number  from  two  to  ten  inclusive. 
If  the  number  of  fingers  extended  by  both  parties 
should  agree  with  the  number  called  out  by  either 
one  of  the  players,  that  one  wins  the  game.  Should 
neither  guess  correctly  or  should  both  guess  aright, 
it  is  a  drawn  game  and  the  jerking  goes  on.  Such 
quickness  of  action  and  eye  do  the  players  acquire 
that  their  motion  is  as  rapid  as  the  flapping  of  the 
wings  of  a  sparrow;  and  so  passionately  fond  of  it 
do  some  become  that  they  are  like  confirmed  gam- 
blers. At  the  time  of  our  story  it  was  not  allowed 
to  be  played  inside  the  walls  of  Rome ;  henco  the 
lovers  of  the  game  wcro  obliged  to  play  it  surrep. 


1) 


I 


■ 


136 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


i;f 


i  I 


titiously,  after  the  manner  of  boys  in  our  cities  who 
have  a  weakness  for  coasting. 

Master  Drew,  who  rejoiced  in  the  name  of  "Wash- 
ington when  given  his  full  title,  but  who  was  treated 
only  to  Washy  by  his  mother  and  sisters,  was,  as  his 
mother  had  predicted,  "  guzzling"  wine  at  the  bar. 
Had  his  family  prefixed  Wishy  to  his  pet  name  and 
made  it  Wishy-wasliy,  it  would  have  eminently  ex- 
pressed, in  vulgar  phraseology,  his  attributes. 

After  a  good  deal  of  running  up  and  down  stairs 
on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Drew,  banging  at  doors  and  tell- 
ing the  "  girls  to  hurry  up,"  the  whole  family  as- 
sembled at  the  door  of  the  hotel.  The  young  ladies 
were  dressed  in  a  costly  style ;  in  this  age  that  style 
seems  to  liold  t'^f3  place  of  a  becoming  one.  Mosaic 
sets  from  the  most  fashionable  jeweller  in  that  most 
fashionable  jewel-mart  the  Via  dei  Condotti,  elon- 
gated the  lobes  of  their  ears,  and  sparkled  in  their 
dresses.  Washy  had  procured  a  pin  at  the  same 
establishment,  and  an  enormous  seal  for  his  watch- 
chain.  Mrs.  Drew  had  the  weakness  of  her  sex  for 
gaudy  apparel,  and  glistened  in  the  sunlight  like  an 
embodied  rainbow.  The  Hotel  d'Amerique  is  close 
by  the  "  Piazza  del  Popolo,"  the  most  imposing 
square  of  aiiy  city  in  the  world.  It  is  elliptical  in 
form  and  has  a  magnificent  Egyptian  obelisk  in  the 
centre ;  around  the  basf;  of  this  column  four  lions  of 
Egyptian  mould  rest  on  lofty  couches  of  marble, 
giving  forth  from  their  mouths  a  continual  stream 
of  water.  There  is  a  beautiful  symmetry  of  design 
and  an  elegance  of  finish  observed  in  the  buildings 
that  front  on  this  piazza.     A  noble  gateway,  beneath 


TflE  DREW  B*AMILY  tN  ROME. 


137 


which  passes  out  the  Flaminian  Way,  stands  in 
one  end  of  the  ellipse,  and  from  the  other  end  three 
spacious,  well-paved  streets  lead  to  the  very  heart  of 
Rome. 

Tliere  is  in  every  large  city  a  certain  class  of  use- 
ful, though  at  times  annoying,  citizens.  They  are 
abroad  in  all  weathers  and  at  everv  hour  of  the 
twenty-four.  To  them  the  heat  and  dust  of  summer 
are  as  much  trifles  of  no  consequence  as  the  chill 
rains  of  winter.  They  have  never  been  seen  eating, 
but  they  are  always  ready  for  a  drink.  If  ever  they 
close  their  eyes  it  must  be  while  at  work,  for  you 
never  catch  them  sleeping  when  idle.  They  are 
iievei  sick ;  iney  never  grow  older ;  such  as  you 
have  first  remarked  them  such  they  remain.  "Were 
it  not  for  the  certainty  we  have  of  the  universality 
of  death,  we  would  maintain  that  they  never  die. 
They  have  a  keen  relish  for  a  joke  and  no  great  love 
for  a  police  officer.  They  are  usually  armed  with  a 
whip,  and  are  known  as  cabmen,  cabbies,  or  jehus. 
Generally  their  horses  partake  of  the  characteristics 
of  their  masters.  In  fact,  it  is  difficult  to  have  a 
right  conception  of  a  representative  cabman  without, 
at  the  same  time,  including  an  idea  of  his  horse. 
That  one  could  recognize  a  cabman  from  having 
seen  his  horse,  and  vice  versa,  is  pretty  certain. 
Wlio  can  explain  this  strange  fact? 

No  sooner  had  the  Drew  family  appeared  at  the 
door  of  the  hotel  than  with  a  clatter  of  hoofs,  a 
cracking  of  whips,  a  rumbling  of  wheels,  and  loud 
yells,  a  dozen  cabmen  charged  wildly  down  on  the 
devoted  group.     It  reminded  Mr.  Drew  of  the 


''S 


w^ 

1 

!! 


138 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


stampede  at  Bull  Run,  an  event  which  he  had 
witnessed  from  a  friendly  height.  Tiie  horses  en- 
tered into  the  spirit  of  the  thing,  and  stretcliQd  their 
foundered  legs  with  surprising  agility.  The  loud 
shouts  and  excited  looks  of  the  cabmen  would 
make  a  stranger  believe  that  it  was  a  Koman  Jugger- 
naut sent  forth  to  crush  the  hapless  Drews.  Their 
intentions,  however,  were  quite  pacific  ;  it  was  only 
a  friendly  race  to  secure  a  goodly  fare.  "When  Mr. 
Drew  called  from  the  ranks  a  two-horse  coach  the 
others  evinced  no  show  of  ill-humor,  but,  with  a 
professional  jest,  quietly  subsided  into  the  sedate 
and  philoso])hic  state  so  characteristic  of  the  cab- 
man on  a  stand. 

"  Here,  girls,  get  up  in  haste;  me  and  Daniel  will 
take  the  back-seat ;  you  two  in  front.  Washy  can 
mount  the  box  with  the  driver." 

Thus  spoke  Mrs.  Drew,  and  thus  she  hoped  to 
easily  provide  for  the  convenience  of  all.  But 
though  cabs  may  have  a  great  capacity  of  stowage, 
there  is  to  it,  as  to  all  finite  things,  a  limit.  If  any 
one  doubts  this,  let  such  a  one  attempt  to  pack  into 
a  cab  a  long  angular  man,  a  big  fat  woman,  two 
large  and  fashionably  dressed  young  ladies,  three 
shawls,  four  camp-stools,  two  reticules,  a  waterproof, 
an  overcoat,  and  two  bouquets  of  winter  flowers,  and 
scepticism  will  dissolve  in  a  noonday  flood  of  evi- 
dence. At  length,  by  dint  of  sitting  on  the  shawls, 
holding  the  reticules  and  bouquets,  putting  on  the 
overcoat  and  waterproof,  and  packing  the  stools  on 
the  perch  under  the  cabman's  feet,  the  party  started 
bravely  for  the  Coliseum. 


THE  DREW   FAMILY  IN  ROME. 


13d 


In  a  short  time  they  arrived  at  this  monument 
of  ancient  Rome's  greatness.  Tlie  grandeur  of  its 
design  and  its  graceful  proportions  claim  our  rever- 
ence for  the  genius  that  presided  over  its  erection, 
but  the  remembrance  of  the  cruelties  enacted  with- 
in its  enclosure  causes  us  to  shudder,  and  to  thank 
God  that  its  day  has  passed  away  forever. 

"What  are  we  going  to  do  now,  girls?"  said  Mrs. 
Drew,  as  they  dismounted.  "  I  don't  see  much  use 
r\  staying  here  long  to  gape  at  a  pile  of  tumble- 
down stone  and  brick." 

"  But,  Ma,  this  is  the  great  Coliseum,  the  Flavian 
amphitheatre,  where  the  emperors  and  all  the  great 
people  used  to  come  to  see  the  gladiators  fight,  and 
all  that," — thus  Miss  Drew. 

"  And  the  place  where  they  use^  to  let  lions  and 
tigers  loose  on  the  Christians,  Ma," — thus  Miss  Lu- 
cilla  Drew. 

"It's  hoky  old-looking,  at  any  rate,"  was  the 
classic  remark  of  Master  Washington  Drew. 

"  I  rayther  carlkerate  that  if  it  were  well  white- 
washed and  roofed  in,  it  might  make  a  respectable 
factory.  Pity  there  was  not  a  little  more  American 
enterprise  in  Rome," — thus  the  practical  Mr.  Drew. 

They  now  entered  by  a  lofty  archway  to  1.' '  en- 
closed space  in  the  centre.  This  was  the  spot  on 
which  the  athletes  strove  for  victory ;  the  spot  on 
which  gladiators  fought  and  died  to  "  make  a  Roman 
holiday";  the  spot  on  which  thousands  of  our  fore- 
fathers in  the  faith  were  torn  by  wild  beasts,  or 
suffered  cruel  torments  in  testimony  to  Christ.  Puri- 
fied and  consecrated  by  the  blood  of  so  many  raar- 


. ,  u 


wv 


140 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


tyrs,  it  is  a  sacred  spot  to  Catholics,  and  one  which 
no  true  Christian  can  tread  without  a  feeling  of  holy 
awe.  After  Calvary's  blood-stained  heights  it  moves 
most  the  lofty  heroism  of  gi'cat  souls.  As  you  '} 
on  that  love-dyed  ground,  picture  to  yourself  a  fair 
young  girl,  or  a  graceful  boy,  standing  in  the  centre, 
where  now  stands  yon  cross,  about  to  offer  to  God, 
for  God,  the  life  he  gave.  Tens  of  thousands  of 
savage  eyes  glare  down  unpityingly  from  the  packed 
seats  that  rise  above  one  another  in  a  dizzy  circle. 
Of  all  that  panting  crowd  no  heart  is  softened  with 
pity,  no  sonl  is  stirred  with  geneious  emotion.  The 
debasing  influence  of  paganism  has  seared  every 
heart;  only  the  gallant  young  martyr  standing  be- 
low, with  outstretched  hands,  looks  up  to  h<  n. 
Already  he  can  hear  the  approaching  harmony  of 
the  celestial  choirs ;  as  the  savage  lion  bounds  quick- 
ly towards  him,  he  can  hear  the  turning  of  the  snia- 
ragd  hinges  of  heaven's  gate ;  as  the  beast  springs 
on  him  he  feels  the  flutter  of  angels'  wings,  and 
closing  his  eyes  on  a  gloating  multitude,  he  opens 
them  in  the  bosom  of  his  God.  This  is  the  picture 
which  hallows  the  Coliseum,  and  surrounds  it  with 
an  atmosphere  of  holiness. 

Around  the  inner  wall  the  "  Stations  of  the  Cross" 
have  been  erected — a  fitting  spot  for  this  devotional 
memorial.  In  the  centre  a  large  cross  is  planted, 
symbolizing  the  triumph  of  meek  endurance  over 
raging  hate.  A  Cardinal  was  just  finishing  his 
prayers  at  the  foot  of  that  cross  as  the  Drew  family 
came  forward.  He  was  attended  by  a  secretary  and 
a  footman  in  livery.     The  gaily-braided  attire  of 


th 


THE  DREW   FAMILY    IN    ROME. 


141 


the  latter  at  once  canglit  the  attention  of  Mrs.  Drew. 
She  thought  him  some  nobleman  of  high  rank,  and 
the  Cardinal  and  secretary  his  servants.  Full  of  this 
discovery  she  said  excitedly: 

''Look,  girls,  look!  that's  a  Roman  prince  as  sure 
as  eggs.  What  a  splendid  dress,  and  how  he  carries 
his  military  hat !" 

"  I  do  declare,  Ma,  he's  coming  this  way ;  what  a 
distingue  air  he  has !  such  a  love  of  a  Roman  nose, 
and  all  that,"  said  Miss  Drew. 

"Just  the  picture  of  the  German  hero  Arminius; 
1  have  half  a  mind  to  hum  'Kennst  du  das  Land'; 
they  say,"  blushingly  continued  IM^iss  Lucilla,  "  that 
these  Roman  princes  prefer  foreign  wives." 

The  liveried  footman,  unconscious  of  the  admira- 
tion he  had  excited,  came  towards  them  in  advance 
of  the  Cardinal,  to  call  round  the  coachman,  who  was 
some  distance  off.  As  he  passed  by  the  Drew  fam- 
ily its  respected  head  took  off  his  cap ;  Mrs.  Drew 
made  a  duck  forward,  achieving  a  motion  between  a 
pronounced  courtesy  of  the  old  style  and  a  modified 
modern  bow;  as  a  gymnastic  performance  for 
strengthening  the  action  of  the  lungs  it  was  a  com- 
plete success.  The  Misses  Drew  gracefully  effected 
a  most  polite  bow,  languishingly  gazing  on  the 
stolid  features  of  the  footman ;  Washy  pulled  the 
knob  of  his  cane  from  his  mouth,  and  gave  that 
most  irritating  and  abominable  of  nods,  which  con- 
sists in  putting  the  head  out  of  plumb  by  an  eighth 
part  of  an  inch.  This  species  of  salutation  is  mucli 
in  vogue  among  independent  young  gentlemen,  and 
is  brought  about  by  a  slightly  convulsive  twitch  of 


'imi'  ik-.!jj^fei^ 


142 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


the  muscles  on  the  right  shoulder  and  jaw.  The 
result  is  a  momentary  kink  in  the  neck,  which  one 
is  tempted  to  make  permanent  by  giving  the  fel- 
low's head  a  good  strong  twist.  This  homage  having 
been  paid  to  the  supposed  prince,  the  pai'ty  stared 
impolitely  enough  at  the  Cardinal  and  his  secre- 
tary. It  was  Cardinal  Barnabo,  a  man  well  acquain- 
ted with  persons  from  every  country.  A  quiet 
smile  played  roguishly  over  his  good-natured  fea- 
tures as  he  divined  the  mistake  of  the  Drews.  '*! 
must  braid  my  coat  after  this,"  he  remarked  to  his 
secretary. 

There  was  another  witness  to  the  above  scene. 
It  was  a  person  dressed  in  the  costume  of  a  Zouave; 
he  was  leaning  carelessly  against  a  broken  buttress 
when  the  Drews  entered,  but  watched  tlie  subse- 
quent proceedings  with  interest.  Evidently  lie 
enjoyed  the  situation,  and  laughed  to  himself  as  he 
muttered,  "It's  the  Drews;  I'll  have  some  fun  with 
them."  Now  Peppe,  for  it  was  none  other  than 
Lorenzo's  faithful  attendant,  had  heard  Morgan 
speaking  about  his  encounter  with  the  Drews,  and, 
recognizing  them  by  the  description,  was  resolved 
to  have  a  little  quiet  amusement  at  their  expense. 
He  could  spfiak  English  tolerably,  having  passed 
some  years  i  Jngland  while  Lorenzo  was  in  college 
there.  See...ingly  vdthout  any  design,  he  threw 
himself  in  their  way,  and  politely  begged  pardon, 
as  he  almost  stumbled  against  Mr.  Drew.  Hearing 
his  native  tongue,  Mr.  Drew  was  delighted,  and  at 
once  began  a  conversation  : 

"I  always  said  that  you  can  never  find  a  spot 


THE  DREW   FAMILY   IN   ROME. 


143 


where  English  is  not  spoken  I  would  lay  a  thou- 
sand dollars  'gin  an  X,  that  when  the  first  man 
gits  to  the  North  Pole,  he'll  find  some  one  there  as 
speaks  English.     Be  you  an  American?" 

"  Ko,  mister,"  answered  Peppe ;  "  my  race  took 
its  rise  in  the  East.  My  history  is  a  strange  one, 
and  my  fate  a  mystery ;  but  can  I  be  of  any  service 
to  you  ?    You  came,  I  suppose,  to  visit  these  ruins  ?" 

"  That's  just  whereabouts  it  is ;  we  have  come  to 
Rome  to  see  the  elephants ;  can  you  tell  us  some- 
thing about  this  brick-and-mortar  pile  ?" 

Peppe  intended  to  be  truthful  regarding  the 
monuments,  but  to  put  in  some  legends  of  his  own 
afterwards,  so  he  began  : 

"This  was  built  as  a  place  for  public  games;  it 
covers  four  acres  of  ground.  As  you  can  see,  there 
were  three  walls  built  in  almost  a  circular  form,  a 
few  feet  apart.  The  space  enclosed  by  this  inside 
one  is  about,  as  you  see,  two  acres ;  this  was  the 
arena  for  the  games.  A  few  feet  farther  out  arose 
the  second  wall,  which  was  built  higher  than  the 
inside  one,  and  was  connected  with  it  by  arches. 
Tlie  third  wall  was  some  distance  outside  of  the 
second,  and  rose  higher  than  it,  and  was  likewise 
joined  by  arches  to  the  second  one.  In  this  way 
there  was  a  long  slope  from  the  top  of  the  outside 
wall  to  the  top  of  the  inside  one.  On  this  slope 
tiers  of  seats  were  ranged  all  around,  one  above  the 
other,  and  thus  each  person  could  see  everything 
that  was  going  on  below  in  the  arena." 

"It  must  have  held  a  tarnation  lot  of  people," 
remarked  Mi'.  Drew. 


a:? 


c 


If' 


144 


AFTER  WEARY  TEARS. 


I* 


1 


I  4'. 


'i 


i  ^: 


"  Yes,  about  eiglity  thousand,"  answered  Peppe ; 
"  there  was  also  a  canal  to  the  Tiber,  and  this  field 
could  be  turned  into  a  lake." 

"But  how  could  such  a  lot  of  people  ever  get  in 
and  out  without  tramping  one  another  to  death  ?" 

"  Quite  easily,"  said  Peppe.  "  Look  at  all  those 
archways  in  each  wall ;  you  could  enter  by  any  of 
them,  and  wide  flights  of  steps  led  jp  to  the 
benches.  There  were  more  than  a  hundred  ways 
of  entering." 

"But  is  any  of  the  wall  standing  to  the  full 
height?" 

"  Yes,  part  of  that  outside  wall  is  complete ;  you 
see  the  Popes  have  built  a  strong  buttress  of  brick 
to  support  that  outside  wall." 

During  this  explanation,  Mrs.  Drew  and  her 
daughters  were  attentive  listeners.  The  frank  bear- 
ing and  military  uniform  of  Peppe  made  him  at 
once  a  favorite  with  the  young  ladies.  Like  many 
of  their  sex  when  abroad,  they  saw  a  distinguished 
foreigner  in  every  smart-looking  man  ;  and  like  their 
sex,  whether  at  home  or  abroad,  they  imagined  that 
every  man  who  spoke  and  smiled  in  their  presence 
was  seeking  to  win  their  affections.  Pleasing  delu- 
sion of  young  girls!  It  fosters  wonderfully  their 
self-esteem,  and  makes  them  see  perpetually  num- 
berless enchained  slaves  lying  at  their  feet.  But, 
like  many  a  delusion  of  youth,  it  passes  away  with 
increase  of  years,  and  too  often  "  leaves  them  at  eve 
on  the  bleak  shore  alone." 

"  Oh,  how  I  should  love  to  mount  up  yonder, 
where  the  sun  is  dancing  on  the  grassy  iniins !  It 


THE  DREW  FAMILY  IN   ROME. 


145 


would  be  like  assisting  at  one  of  the  ancient  games. 
Washy,  can  you  find  any  way  up?" 

This  speech  of  Miss  Drew's,  though  ostensibly 
addressed  to  her  moping  brother,  was  intended  for 
Peppe.  With  the  native  politeness  of  his  race,  he 
answered : 

"  There  is  a  way  up,  Signora.  I  will  ask  the  cus- 
todian to  admit  us  all  to  the  ascent,  if  you  wish  to 

go." 
Mr.  Drew  "opined  it  would  be  a  pesky   good 

chance  to  git  a  view  of  the  city."  Washington 
''  thought  it  would  be  jolly  fine  to  smoke  a  cigar  up 
there,"  Mrs.  Drew  was  "  afraid,  girls,  lest  it  might 
seem  too  vulgar  to  be  going  away  up  on  them  pagan 
benches."  To  this  half-hearted  objection  Miss 
Drew  put  an  end  by  saying,  "  Honey's  sweet  ki 
mal  e  pence,"  a  sentence  which  some  readers  may 
not  recognize  as  the  well  known  royal  motto, 
"  Honi  soit  que  mal  y  pense,"  but  then  it  must  be 
remembered  boarding-school  French  is  so  awfully 
polite. 

Peppe  then  led  the  way  up  one  of  the  old  stone 
stairs  to  the  slope  on  which  the  seats  for  spectators 
used  to  be  arranged.  In  many  places  the  arches 
between  the  different  walls  are  still  solid,  and,  by 
using  a  little  caution,  you  can  mount  higher  and 
higher  until  you  reach  to  the  top  of  the  outside 
wall.  It  is  when  seated  aloft  on  these  crumbling 
bricks  and  stone  that  one  can  form  something  like 
an  adequate  idea  oi  the  vastness  of  tliis  amphi- 
theatre. To  a  spectator  seated  on  the  highest  row, 
a  lion  bounding  in  the  arena  must  have  appeared 


■ 

j|S! 

■B 

f 

(IdbK 

A 

Ugg 

i 

1 

m^ 

u 


146 


AFTER  WEARY  TEARS. 


little  larger  than  a  spaniel,  and  a  wiry  athlete 
scarce  bigger  than  a  boy  of  ten. 

Nature  everywhere  teems  with  life.  Even  np  in 
the  crevices  between  the  stones  weeds  and  plants 
are  growing  in  profusion.  Were  tlieir  seeds  brought 
hither  by  birds?  or  were  they  wafted  hither  by  the 
breeze  ?  or  were  their  constituent  parts  in  the  brick, 
stone,  and  mortar,  and  brought  into  proper  relation  to 
one  another  by  the  action  of  light,  heat,  and  electricity 
during  past  ages.  There  is  here  growing  a  beau- 
teous little  flower  unknown  in  other  parts.  Botan- 
ists call  it  the  "  Flower  of  the  Coliseum."  Peppe 
gave  his  own  version  of  the  cause  of  its  presence  in 
this  place.     He  said  : 

"Egeria,  the  devotional  nymph  who  is  said  to 
have  given  directions  concerning  religious  rites  to 
Numa  Pompilius,  was  a  lover  of  botany.  Her 
grotto,  in  which  she  gave  law  and  religion  to  the 
good  old  king,  was  filled  with  beautiful  flowers. 
She  cultivated  them  with  her  own  hand,  and 
watched  their  budding  forth  with  loving  tender- 
ness. They  spoke  to  her  of  the  power  and  glory  of 
the  Supreme  Cause ;  and  she  hoped  to  make  their 
mute  language  appeal  to  the  hearts  of  all,  and  to 
soften  their  fierceness.  After  the  course  of  manv 
centuries  this  ampliitheatre  was  built,  and  thousands 
shed  in  its  arena  their  blood  for  Christ.  Egeria, 
fearing  that  the  march  of  events  would  trample 
down  her  grotto  and  destroy  her  flowers,  was  sadly 
troubled.  Night  after  night  she  roamed  around 
her  grotto  singing  a  wild  lament,  and  bewailing  her 
expected  loss.     Crossing  over  that  place  which  is 


THE  DREW  FAMILY  IN   ROME. 


147 


now  the  Botanical  Gardens,  she  wandered  listlessly 
around  the  Coliseum.  Beneath  one  of  its  arches 
sat  tlie  sprite  who  liad  been  the  Genius  of  the  place. 
Slie  too  was  pensive,  but  not  sad.  Addressing 
Egeria  she  demanded  the  cause  of  her  grief ;  it  was 
soon  told.  For  a  moment  the  sprite  of  the  Coli- 
seum was  silent ;  then  slie  began  :  '  Egeria,  our  days 
on  earth  are  drawing  to  a  close ;  the  faith  revealed 
by  Christ  will  f.oon  stamp  out  that  reb'gion  which 
lias  become  fearfully  degenerate  since  the  days  of 
Numa.  Every  drop  of  Christian  blood  shed  in  yon 
arena  is  a  fruitful  seed  of  life.  The  Coliseum  will 
stand  as  long  as  Rome  stands,  and  Rome  will  stand 
until  the  end  of  time.  If,  then,  you  wish  your 
flowers  to  survive  and  to  speak  of  the  Great  Cause 
of  all,  go  bring  hither  a  few  seeds,  and  dip  them  in 
the  blood  of  that  lovely  young  Agnes,  which  is  yet 
moist  on  the  ground.  Then  scatter  them  in  the 
crevices  of  these  stones,  and  fear  not ;  for  the  Flower 
of  the  Coliseum,  blending  in  one  the  natural  beauty 
of  a  plant  and  the  symbol  of  Christian  purity,  will 
speak  to  every  generous  heart  for  all  time.'  Egeria, 
reassured  by  these  words,  ceased  her  lament,  and, 
having  done  as  directed,  died  out  of  the  world  in  a 
gentle  zephyr." 

"  Lor !  how  pretty! "  ejaculated  simultaneously 
both  the  3'oung  ladies. 

"Wal,  I  declare,"  solemnly  began  Mr.  Drew, 
"that  knocks  spirit-rapping  higher  than  a  kite. 
But  what  became  of  Egeria's  shebang?" 

Peppe  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  what  shebang 
meant,  and  like  many  better  scholars,  not  wishing 


Bnsm 


148 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


HIH' 

: 

i''' 

H 

■1 

'1 

il 

1 

j  I;, 

1, 

!  i 

to  be  thought  ignorant,  answered  with  a  non-com- 
mittal "  I  don't  know." 

"Perhaps  it  burst  up,"  suggested  Mr.  Drew. 

"  Perhaps  so,"  echoed  Peppe. 

"  Or  perhaps  it  was  destroyed  by  the  farmers," 
continued  the  former. 

"  Quite  likely,"  assented  the  latter. 

Here  botli  paused  and  looked  profoundly  wise,  as 
people  generally  do  when  they  imagine  that  they 
have  successfully  disentangled  the  threads  of  some 
complicated  historical  knot. 

Miss  Drew,  who  was  fast  receiving  in  her  suscep- 
tible heart  shots  from  the  bow  of  Cupid,  each  shaft 
being  winged  with  threads  from  Peppe's  military 
uniform,  proposed  to  mount  still  higher,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  overlook  the  broken  wall.  Now,  taken  by 
itself  this  proposition  was  quite  natural,  and  did 
not  necessarily  include  any  idea  of  a  matrimonial 
project.  It  might  easily  appear  the  instinctive 
longing  of  a  youthful  mind  for  adventure  and  fun. 
But  viewed  in  the  light  of  Miss  Drew's  mellow 
glances,  and  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  fact  that 
it  necessitated  many  gallant  attentions  on  the  part 
of  Peppe  to  conduct  her  safely  over  broken  arches, 
weed-tangled  stairs,  and  crumbling  masonry,  a  mis- 
ogynist might  argue  that  a  deep  scheme  was  art- 
fully cloaked  under  an  innocent  proposition.  Be 
this  as  it  may,  they  ascended  higher,  and  Peppe 
pointed  out  the  triumphal  arch  of  Constantino  span- 
ning the  "Triumphal  Way."  He  also  called  their 
attention  to  the  Arch  of  Titus,  built  after  his  victory 
over  Jerusalem.    On  the  inside  of  this  arch  is  sculp- 


THE  DREW  FA3ItLY  IN   ROME. 


149 


1  ;■: 

tured  a  representation  of  the  "  seven-branch  candle- 
stick" that  adorned  the  temple.  These  public  mon- 
uments serve  a  purpose  unthought  of  by  those  wlio 
raised  them.  They  give  testimony,  in  their  own 
silent  way,  in  this  sceptical  age,  to  historic  and 
Biblical  truth.' 

When  all  had  descended  again  into  the  arena,  the 
Drew  family  were  desirous  that  Peppe  should  ac- 
company them  to  other  objects  of  interest  or  curi- 
osity. Accordingly  he  took  them  to  the  ruins  of 
the  Forum,  and  called  their  attention  to  the  groups 
of  marble  pillars  standing  in  their  ruined  glory  as 
proudly  erect  as  Columbus  in  his  unmerited  chains. 
The  treasures  of  art,  both  in  sculpture  and  painting, 
contained  in  the  Museum  of  the  Capitol,  were  next 
visited,  but  Peppe  himself  was  the  only  one  of  the 
party  who  had  taste  enough  to  enjoy  the  visit. 
Finding  it  tiresome  to  be  pointing  out  masterpieces 
of  art  to  those  who  could  only  gape  and  yawn, 
Peppe  brought  the  party  in  presence  of  the  busts 
of  Nero,  Caligula,  and  other  emperors  of  ancient 
Rome.  He  told  them  whom  they  represented,  and 
said,  "  Ah !  so  like  them,  so  like  them,  the  old  ras- 
cals." 

"  Does  history  or  tradition  say  that  these  are 
good  likenesses  ?"  questioned  Miss  Drew. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  history,  or  tradition,  may 
say  on  that  point,  Signora,"  said  Peppe ;  "  but  I 
know  from  personal  experience  that  they  are  faith- 
ful representations  of  the  originals." 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  soy  you  ever  saw  the 
originals  ?"  persisted  Miss  Drew. 


K 


I 


ill 


160 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


"  I  do,  Signora,"  solemnly  replied  Peppe. 

"  Lawk  bless  me,  Daniel  I  does  the  stranger  mean 
as  what  he  lived  with  them  old  pagans?" 

"  I  told  yon,"  said  Peppe,  "  that  my  history  was 
a  strange  one,  and  my  fate  a  mystery.  If  you 
should  like  to  hear  how  I  came  to  see  the  originals 
of  these  busts,  I  will  tell  you.  The  story  is  not 
long,  and  it  is  interesting." 

All  crowded  around  him  in  a  listening  attitude 
when  he  began. 

peppe's  adventures  with  goblins. 


"Some  ten  years  ago,  the  brig  Don  Giovanni, 
Antonio  Tanburini  commander,  sailed  down  from 
Rome  to  Ostia  with  a  precious  freight.  I  was  on 
board.  The  evening  was  clear  and  beautiful.  We 
skimmed  gaily  along  the  winding  Tiber,  now  rising 
almost  to  a  level  with  the  the  surrounding  country, 
now  sinking  beneath  a  cliff-bound  shore.  By  night 
we  neared  a  beetling  rock,  beneath  which  yawns  a 
gloomy  cave.  Far  in  a  clammy  recess  of  that  cave, 
borne  thither  by  some  ghostly  Fury,  rest  the  bodies 
of  many  of  Rome's  Emperors.  The  shades  of  these 
tyrants  infest  the  stream  by  night,  and,  to  wreak 
vengeance  on  the  sons  of  those  over  whom  they 
once  tyrannized,  raise  storms  by  infernal  art.  Woe 
to  the  'nighted  ship  that  meets  these  goblins  on  tlie 
lonely  waters!  When  we  neared  the  cliff,  we 
turned  our  prow  to  the  opposite  shore,  so  as  to  give 
the  cave  a  wide  berth.  But  all  at  once  the  moon 
obscured;  a  whirlwind  struck  the  sails;  we  were 


THE  DREW  FAMILY  IN   ROME. 


161 


careened  over.  The  stream,  that  had  been  erst  so 
smooth,  boiled  in  seething  madness,  and  rising  waves 
swept  furiously  over  the  deck.  Many  a  cheek  was 
blanched,  and  many  a  heart  frozen  with  fear.  A 
horrid  discord  of  demon  yells  smote  on  the  appalled 
ear,  as  if  the  earth  were  turned  to  one  vast  pande- 
monium. With  a  crash  and  a  swoop  the  masts  fell 
by  the  board  ;  the  furious  water  rushed  through  the 
gaping  chinks ;  no  human  skill  could  save  our  ship. 
A  hurried  prayer  to  open  the  crystal  gates  of  hea- 
ven to  the  freed  soul  was  breathed  by  all ;  calling 
thus  on  our  God,  the  whirling  water  drew  us  'neath 
its  foam.  One  lurid  glare,  sliot  from  a  demon's 
lantern,  illumed  the  sinking  ship  and  hapless  crew. 
Long  did  I  battle  for  life,  but  at  length  grown 
weak  I  would  have  sunk,  but  that  mocking  goblins 
caught  me  up  in  a  boat  formed  of  four  human 
skulls,  and  bore  me  to  the  tyrants'  cave.  Here 
feasting  sat  that  monster  Heliogabalus,  who  filled  up 
in  four  vears  an  asre  of  crimes.  Here  Nero  and 
Decius  fed  on  the  blood  of  martyred  Christians; 
here  the  ghastly  shades  of  Caligula  and  Diocletian, 
and  a  host  of  tyrant  ghouls  sat  around  the  satanic 
board.  Words  of  mine  would  fail  to  unfold  prop- 
erly the  devilish  scenes  of  that  night's  revelry.  I, 
as  beseemeth  a  stout  soldier,  was  unappalled,  and 
after  having  quaffed  a  few  draughts  of  the  wine 
forgot  the  shipwreck  and  the  storm.  But  ere  the 
coming  dawn  had  advanced  its  sparkling  aureole 
above  the  horizon,  the  maddened  goblins  stood 
round  me  in  a  ring ;  each  shrivelled  hand  grasped  a 
flagon  of  witching  wine.    Thrice  the  reeling  spec- 


o 


m 


I' 


! 

'   ! 

:  ^ 

'1 

■■!■ 

" 

1 

■,;     ■ 

1 

'f 

4! 

1 

.:. 

162 


AFTER  WEARt   tEARS. 


lil 


tres  waved  their  goblets,  and  then  screeching  sang 
this  diabolical  chorus : 

•  Drink  to  the  soul  of  Peppe  so  brave, 
Who  trembled  not  in  the  tyrants'  cave; 
Drink  to  the  hero  in  mortal  form, 
Who  dared  with  ghosts  to  revel  'till  morn; 
Drink,  ere  cock-crow  to  hell  drives  us  back; 
Drinl<,  ere  we  feel  the  torturing  rack, — 
Drink,  drink,  drink  ! ' 

Slowly  'mid  a  elond  of  sulphureous  smoke  the  spec- 
tres vanished.  Methouglit  I  sank  to  sleep,  while 
gentle  hands  bore  me  from  the  haunted  spot.  I 
woke  surrounded  by  rude  shepherds,  who  had  found 
me  at  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and  had  borne  me  to 
a  quiet  hut." 

The  expressions  of  wonder,  fear,  admiration,  and 
various  other  emotions  which  followed  the  recital  of 
this  adventure  can  only  be  equalled  by  a  scene  caused 
by  half  a  dozen  young  "ladies  of  fashiotJ,"  when 
criticising  the  first  appearance  of  a  beauteous  young 
heiress.  Miss  Drew  admired  the  noble  courage 
of  Peppe.  Miss  Lucilla  Drew  thought  it  "awfully 
romantic,  and  horridly  exciting."  Mrs.  Drew 
would  like  to  take  the  serSB  of  Mrs.  Flintwood,  the 
President  of  their  Bible  Society,  on  the  matter, 
before  venturing  an  opinion.  Washy  wanted  to 
know  if  the  "  wine  was  doosed  good,"  and  if  so, 
"  How  the  old  plugs  managed  to  get  it  ?"  Mr. 
Drew,  being  of  a  practical  turn  of  mind,  suggested 
a  visit  to  the  spot  as  the  preliminary  to  other  in- 
vestigations.     Peppe    rather  dissented   from   this 


'••■^ 


v.u 


EASTER  SUNDAY. 


163 


idea;  he  acted  on  the  principle  that  ghost  etoricB 
are  generally  of  the  nature  of  frescos — they  show 
best  at  a  distance.  Fearing  lest  he  might  be  pressed 
for  further  particulars,  he  gracefully  took  his  leave, 
carrying  away,  quite  unconsciously,  the  heart  of 
Miss  Drew. 

It  being  now  late  in  the  day,  the  Drew  family 
returned  to  their  hotel,  more  than  satisfied  with 
their  first  day  of  "lionizing"  Eome. 


CHAPTER  X. 


EASTER    SUNDAY. 


Bang! — bang! — bang!  roared  the  cannon  from 
Castel  San  Angelo,  shaking  the  grim  old  walls  of 
the  fort,  creating  a  series  of  concentric  ripples  in 
the  tawny  waters  of  the  Tiber,  and  re-echoing  from 
every  lofty  tower.  Bang! — bang! — bang!  they 
roared  again,  and  yet  again,  and  the  dark-blue 
smoke  curled  slowly  up  from  the  brazen  guns,  leav- 
ing a  clear  tranquillity  behind,  as  if  the  spirit  of 
War  had  been  borne  from  earth  on  the  ascend- 
ing cloud.  Bang ! — bang ! — bang  !  and  now  they 
seemed  to  exult  in  their  power,  defying  man,  and 
grandly  booming  out  their  hymn  of  praise  to  the 
risen  Saviour. 

Hat-ta-rat-ta-rum-bum-bum,  beat  the  drums  from 
a  hundred  quarters,  calling  the  soldiers  to  hasten  to 
their  posts.     Rat-ta-rat-ta-rum-bum-bum,  they  joy- 


'  il 


154 


AFTER   WEARY   TEARS. 


ill 


W 


•i 


ft 


ously  sang,  taking  up  the  chorus  of  the  cannons' 
grand  hymn  to  the  risen  Saviour. 

Chmg, — clang, — chuig,  burst  from  hundreds  of 
belfries,  tilling  the  air  with  a  soft  metallic  music 
that  made  a  tenor  for  the  cannon  and  the  drums. 
Clang, — clang, — clang,  they  merrily  chimed  out  in 
harmony  with  the  solemn  and  measured  ding-dong 
of  the  great  bell  of  the  Capitol.  Clang, — clang, — 
clang, — and  now  they  peal  faster,  as  if  filled  with  a 
greater  joy  as  they  continue  alone  the  refrain  of  the 
glad  hymn  to  the  risen  Saviour. 

Thus  was  ushered  in  the  morn  of  Easter  Sunday 
in  Rome. 

Trumpets  and  cymbals,  chord-instruments  and 
organs,  war's  cruel  cannon  and  the  bells  of  peace, 
all,  all  were  pressed  into  the  service  of  the  Lord. 
King  David's  psalm  became,  as  it  were,  an  em- 
bodied reality,  and  praised  the  Lord  with  a  thousand 
voices.  No  grim  faces  should  appear  on  this  day ; 
hope  and  joy  should  light  up  every  countenance. 
Death  has  been  swallowed  up  in  victory ;  the  hand- 
writing of  death  which  was  against  us  was  affixed 
to  the  cross  by  the  Saviour  and  by  Him  blotted 
out;  and  he  who  in  Eden  had  triumphed  through 
a  tree  was  vanquished  through  a  tree  on  ^.u\  j  's 
heiglits. 

The  Saviour  has  risen ;  let  the  .  tidings  ^ 
spread  over  the  four  corners  of  the  t.^,  ih;  tlie  stitig 
of  death  has  been  plucked  out ;  the  horr  ;r  of  the 
tomb  has  been  dispelled.  The  mortal  body  may 
indeed  be  consigned  to  its  clammy  recesses,  but  only 
for  a  time ;  out  from  its  gloom  will  come  forth,  in 


EASTER  SUNDAY. 


156 


similitude  to   that  of  the  Saviour's,  the  glorified 
bodies  of  the  just. 

Let  the  cannon  boom  with  notes  of  praise ;  let 
the  drums  beat  with  joyous  accents ;  let  the  bells 
peal  in  glad  refrain !  It  is  meet  and  just  that  it 
should  be  so  on  such  a  day  as  this.  It  is  meet  and 
just  that  Rome  should  assume  her  most  festal  dress, 
and  deck  her  thousand  altars  with  their  costliest 
ornaments.  It  is  meet  and  just  that  she  be  pre- 
pared as  a  bride,  for  the  Eternal  Spouse  of  the 
Church  is  to  be  hailed  in  His  triumph. 

To-day  is  a  figure  of  that  last  awful  moment, 
when  through  the  silent  regions  of  the  dead  the 
blast  of  the  Angel's  trumpet  shall  sound,  and  shall 
summon  each  sleeper  from  his  narrow  bed. 

The  greasy  dust  and  mouldering  bones  will  obey 
the  call ;  again  will  each  one  be  clad  with  the  veil 
of  the  flesh,  and  be  brought  before  the  Judgment 
Seat.  Easter  Sunday  speaks  to  us  of  our  own  resur- 
rection, while  calling  on  us  to  rejoice  at  that  of  the 
Saviour.  It  is  a  serious  thought,  that  about  the 
resurrection  :  "  We  shall  all  indeed  rise,  but  we  shall 
not  all  be  changed  " ;  some  shall  rise  "  in  glory"  and 
others  "  in  ignominy." 

Thus  speaketh  the  Divine  message.  Ah,  foolish 
heart !  as  thou  hearest  the  glad  chimes  of  the  Easter 
bells,  recall  tiiy  wandering  thoughts  f"om  vain  and 
sinful  objects;  disengage  thy  affections  from  the 
perishable  things  of  the  world,  and  give  at  length 
to  God  that  love  which  He  claims  as  His  due. 
Mayhap,  when  next  these  Easter  bells  peal  forth, 
wild-flowers  will  be  blossoming  over  thy  grave,  and 


166 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


I 


'5 


sad  friends  may  be  fearing  lest  there  be  nought  in 
their  sound  which  tells  of  hope  for  thee.  Even  as 
these  beautiful  sounds  are  wafted  joyously  for  a 
time  on  the  trembling  air  and  then  die  out,  so  thou 
art  borne  quickly  along  by  the  waves  of  time  to  in- 
evitable death. 

The  cannon  had  been  crashing,  the  drums  re- 
sounding, and  the  bells  pealing  for  some  time  on 
the  morning  of  21st  April,  1867,  before  tlieir 
mingled  noise  aroused  a  certain  sleeper  in  the  Hotel 
d'Europe.  When  at  length  he  awoke  with  a  start, 
he  fancied  that  the  city  was  assaulted  by  an  enemy. 
'Collecting  his  sleep-bedewed  wits,  he  remembered 
that  it  was  Easter  Sunday,  and  rightly  guessed  that 
the  noise  was  in  honor  of  the  dav.  Ilavinor  dressed 
quickly,  he  threw  open  the  window  which  looked 
into  the  Piazza  di  Spagna,  and  sat  listening  to  the 
deep-toned  voices  of  the  inanimate  things  which 
were  singing  the  praises  of  the  Lord.  At  first  he 
smiled  almost  contemptuously,  but  soon  the  in 
fluence  of  the  resounding  atmosphere  filled  him  with 
a  strange  feeling  of  awe.  If  every  creature  and 
thing  be  commanded  to  praise  the  Lord,  why  not 
employ  these  cannon  and  drums  and  bells  for  that 
purpose?  Tiiis  w;is  the  reflection  that  put  to  fligiit 
his  expression  of  scorn,  and  gave  a  thoughtful  look 
to  his  well-cut  features. 

George  Marchbank,  for  this  was  the  name  of  our 
new  friend,  was  a  young  man  of  prepossessing  ap- 
pearance, and,  without  being  strictly  handsome,  was 
most  engaging.  There  was  a  pensive  cast  on  his 
well-detined  face,  and  a  dreamy  light  in  his  deep- 


EASTER  StJNDAT. 


167 


blue  eye,  which  proclaimed  the  artist.  A  short  time 
previously  he  had  left  his  Canadian  fatherland  to 
seek  instruction  and  inspiration  in  the  liome  of  the 
arts,  Rome.  He  had  only  arrived  on  the  previous 
evening,  and  now  looked  for  the  first  time  on  the 
city  of  his  dreams  by  daylight.  Brought  up  in  the 
Protestant  persuasion,  he  was  drawn  to  Rome  as  an 
artist,  not  as  a  spiritual  child.  He  cannot  be  said  to 
have  any  very  definite  ideas  of  religion  ;  like  num- 
bers outside  of  the  Church,  he  was  honest  and 
honorable  in  his  actions,  an  agreeable  companion 
and  a  true  friend ;  but  his  notions  of  religion  were 
vague  and  contradictory.  He  believed  in  the 
divinity  of  Christ  and  in  the  mission  given  to  His 
Apostles ;  yet  he  remained  separated  from  that 
Church  which  has  an  unbroken  succession  from  the 
Apostles.  Hearing  in  his  youth  much  wild  decla- 
mation against  the  Catholic  faith,  he  could  not  as 
yet  pierce  the  mist  of  prejudice  which  surrounded 
him;  and  while  he  had  many  valued  friends  who 
professed  that  faith,  he  did  not  seek  to  investigate 
its  chiims  to  his  subjection.  We  who  are  brought 
up  in  tiie  truth,  and  who  see  so  clearly  the  divine 
origin  of  our  Church  and  its  prerogative  of  infalli- 
bility, are  unable  to  understand  how  persons  like 
George  Marchbank  remain  away  from  us.  Yet 
there  are  many  like  him.  To  us  it  is  so  self-evident 
that  there  can  be  but  one  true  Church,  and  that  that 
one  must  have  been  the  first  one,  and  that  the 
Catholic  Church  was  undoubtedly  first,  that  we  are 
almost  tempted  to  become  severe  in  our  strictures 
on  outsiders.     In  truth,  the  reasoning  is  evident, 


I 


§cnmm 


168 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


! 


and  it  clearly  follows,  that  no  matter  how  many 
good  principles  may  be  retained  in  any  particular 
sect,  each  and  every  sect,  by  rejecting  some  one  doc- 
trine of  the  Church,  is  in  error,  and  cut  off  from 
the  living  vine.  Thoughtlessness  and  the  engross- 
ing pleasures  of  life  keep  many  a  candid  soul  far 
away  from  the  saving  truth. 

As  George  Marchbank  sat  listening  to  the  dying 
echoes  of  the  metal  music,  and  seeing,  on  reflection, 
how  appropriate  it  was  to  honor  God  in  this  way,  a 
quick  footstep  was  heard  without  his  room.  An- 
swering to  a  slight  knock,  both  his  hands  were 
grasped  by  a  handsome  soldier ;  for  an  instant  he 
imagined  himself  a  prisoner,  but  a  familiar  voice 
cried :  "  A  thousand  welcomes  to  Rome,  George. 
How  are  you  ?  Plow  did  you  get  along  ?  I  just  re- 
ceived your  note,  and  ran  here  to  see  you  before  the 
ceremonies  of  the  day  begin.    How  well  you  look!" 

"My  dear  Morgan,"  began  Mr.  Marchbank,  "I 
am  so  delighted  to  meet  you.  Where  are  you  stay- 
ing? How  do  you  like  Rome  ?  Are  you  an  officer 
yet?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad,  George,  that  you  arrived  in 
time  for  the  feast  of  to-day !  Wlien  did  you  leave 
Montreal?     How  were  all  old  friends?" 

"  Well,  well,  but  it  is  a  good  augury  to  meet  your 
friendly  face  the  first  this  morning.  I  was  looking 
forward  to  this  meeting  during  the  whole  voyage." 

Now  it  may  be  safely  asserted  that  history  con- 
tains no  example  of  two  friends  speaking  rationally 
for  the  first  five  minutes  when  meeting  after  a  long 
separation,  or  in  a  foreign  coantry.     Distance  takes 


EASTER  SUNDAY. 


169 


the  place  of  length  of  time.  The  meeting  between 
a  man  who  has  been  three  months  in  Rome  and  his 
friends  in  Canada  is  more  enthusiastic  than  if  he  had 
been  three  years  in  New  York.  It  was  not  many 
months  since  George  Marchbank  had  said  good-bye 
to  Morgan  Leahy,  when  the  latter  was  starting  for 
Rome ;  yet  now,  so  great  was  their  mutual  pleasure 
that  they  poured  out  question  on  question,  and 
added  exclamation  to  exclamation,  for  full  live  min- 
utes, without  well  knowing  what  they  were  saying. 
After  they  had  recovered  their  usual  quiet,  Morgan 
said: 

"  So  you  have  acted  on  my  advice,  and  come  to 
the  home  of  the  fine  arts.  I  am  glad  of  it,  for  now 
Montreal  will  have  a  painter  capable  of  transferring 
to  canvas  the  glories  of  our  young  Dominion. 
Your  first  great  work  must  be  Canada,  personified 
as  a  noble  matron  surrounded  by  seven  lovely  chil- 
dren ;  for  in  a  few  years  all  the  British  Provinces 
will  be  united  as  one  Dominion.  Each  child  will 
have  to  express  in  appearance  and  dress  the  charac- 
teristics of  one  of  the  Provinces.  You  must  make 
the  one  representing  Fiince  Edward  Island  the  fair- 
est and  most  smiling.  Throw  over  its  expression  a 
glow  of  that  quiet  loveliness  which  we  admired  to- 
getlier  when  gazing  on  the  calm  beauty  of  New 
Glasgow  and  Rustico  from  the  top  of  the  hill  near 
Millvale.  My  word  for  it,  George,  but  your  work 
will  bring  renown." 

"  As  enthusiastic  as  ever,"  laughed  George,  "  about 
my  poor  powers.  I  am  only,  as  yet  at  least,  an  art- 
ist in  desire,  and  you  sketch  out  for  me  a  work 


¥'^ 


160 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS* 


t^i 


i^B/Vi, 


Mi 


which  would  require  an  artist  of  the  first  order. 
The  idea  you  suggest  is  certainly  a  grand  one,  and 
I  hope  some  painter  of  note  may  embody  it  on  an 
undying  canvas.  I  agree  with  you  that  Prince  Ed- 
ward Island  should  be  the  sweetest  child  of  the 
family.  The  calm,  dreamy  beauty  of  the  valley  of 
the  Clyde,  of  Rustico,  Wheatly  River,  and  of  many 
other  parts  of  that  fair  island,  is  rarely  surpassed. 
Its  summer  months  are  so  pleasantly  fresh  and 
genial  that  I  wonder  it  is  not  frequented  more  by 
tourists.  But  of  yourself,  Morgan  ;  how  do  you 
like  your  soldier's  life  ?  I  thought  you  were  too 
pious  to  be  a  warrior." 

"  The  most  pious  man  may  well  be  a  warrior  in  a 
holy  cause.  I  like  my  life  because  I  am  in  a  posi- 
tion to  do  some  service  for  my  religion.  Were  the 
territory  of  the  Pope  not  in  danger,  I  would  not 
continue  in  my  present  mode  of  life ;  but  so  long 
as  my  arm  can  help  to  defend  his  sacred  rights  by 
being  here,  so  long  will  I  remain." 

"Just  like  your  noble  self,  Morgan.  Believe 
me,  I  admire  your  heroism  and  devotion,  although 
I  do  not  exactly  see  the  necessity  of  a  Pontifical 
army.  Why  caimot  the  Pope  quietly  resign  his 
temporal  power  and  attend  to  the  spiritual  ?" 

*'  Why  should  he  do  this  ?  His  title  to  his  States 
is  most  legitimate,  his  government  most  beneficent. 
Moreover,  to  be  fully  free  in  the  exercise  of  his 
spiritual  government  of  the  world,  he  must  be  inde- 
pendent of  every  king.  Again,  if  he  had  never  had 
his  kingdom,  where  would  the  arts  and  sciences  have 
found  a  home  during  the  dreary  struggle  of  Europe 


fiASTER  SUNDAY. 


161 


for  existence  against  the  barbarians  of  the  North  ? 
And  if  he  were  to  lose  it  now,  liow  long  would  this 
city  continue  to  attract  such  as  you  ?" 

"  I  own,  my  dear  Morgan,  that  I  am  not  well 
versed  in  these  matters ;  let  them  rest  for  the  pres- 
ent. I  am  now  enjoying  the  hospitality  of  Kome, 
and  it  would  be  most  ungracious  of  me  to  say  aught 
against  it.  But  what  a  grand  morning  hymn  the 
bells,  drums,  and  cannon  sang  to  the  risen  Saviour! 
At  first  I  was,  I  am  ashamed  to  confess,  inclined  to 
ridicule  the  idea  ;  but  something  in  the  atmosphere, 
M'liich  was  filled  with  music,  brought  my  mind  into 
harmony  with  Rome  on  this  subject." 

"You  will  find,"  said  Morgan  gravely,  " that  a 
little  reflection  will  bring  your  mind  into  harmony 
with  Rome  on  more  sul)jects  than  this.  When  you 
observe  some  of  her  customs  which  you  do  uot  un- 
derstand, and  at  which  you  may  be  inclined  to  laugh, 
in  all  fairness  find  out,  before  passing  sentence,  what 
tliey  mean  and  why  they  are  observed.  Then  re- 
member that  the  Romans  are  not  Canadians,  and 
consequently  are  not  to  be  judged  by  Canadian 
standards.  If  you  do  this  you  will  arrive  at  a  ra- 
tional knowledire  of  our  religion  and  ceremonies. 
You  have  already  told  me  that  my  family  were 
well,  but  did  not  Eleanor  send  me  any  message?" 

It  might  have  been  only  the  reflection  of  the  red 
curtain,  or  it  might  have  been  fanc}',  but  it  appeared 
to  Morgan  that  George  Marchbank's  face  was  slightly 
flushed  as  he  replied  : 

"  Eleanor  sent  no  message ;  in  fact,  when  I  called 
to  say  good-bye  I  just  spoke  to  her  for  a  moment. 


m 


If"* 


162 


AFTER  WEARY    YEARS. 


i 


r 


She  handed  me  the  letter  I  sent  you  this  morning 
along  with  my  note,  and  that  was  all." 

Morgan  was  slightly  puzzled.  He  knew  Eleanor's 
fond  love  for  himself,  ai)d  the  friendship  which  she, 
in  common  with  all  the  family,  had  for  George.  It 
was  strange  that  she  had  not  sent  some  additional 
message  of  love,  which  repeated  by  word  of  mouth 
would  seem  more  vivid  and  real  than  the  strongest 
expressions  on  paper.  Had  he  known,  however, 
that  on  the  evening  previous  to  his  departure 
George  Marchbank  had,  when  walking  with  Elea- 
nor near  the  majestic  St.  Lawrence,  asked  her  to  be 
his  wife,  and  that  she,  with  real  pain,  refused  to  con- 
sent, his  perplexity  would  disappear.  But  tliis  lie 
did  not  know,  and  this  George  did  not  tell  him. 
The  young  artist  had  long  loved  Eleanor,  and  she 
had  always  respected  him  for  his  manly  qualities. 
She  had  even,  in  the  unconsciousness  of  her  heart, 
loved  him,  and  when  he  asked  hei'  to  be  his  wife  slic 
was  both  pleased  and  pained.  Few  young  women 
are  displeased  at  having  won  the  esteem  of  a  worthy 
man,  but  a  true  woman  is  likewise  pained  when  she 
finds  herself  compelled  to  reject  his  preferred  love. 
This  was  Eleanor's  case.  She  knew  the  many  noble 
attributes  of  George  Marchbank,  but  two  consider- 
ations forbade  her  to  become  his  wife.  She  had 
promised  Mrs.  Barton  not  to  plight  her  troth  yet ; 
but  this  would  only  keep  her  back  a  short  time. 
But  the  other  consideration  was  of  the  highest  im- 
portance ;  there  was  a  difference  of  religious  belief. 
Eleanor  well  knew  that  real  love  requires  unanimity 
of  sentiment,  a  mutual  sympathy  of  views,  and, 


EASTER  SUNDAY. 


163 


above  all,  the  sacred  bond  of  a  true  and  living  laith 
between  man  and  wife.  Mixed  marriages,  no  mat- 
ter how  pleasing  the  qualities  of  the  parties,  must 
always  lack  a  nmtual  sympathy  in  the  higliest  and 
holiest  concerns  of  life.  At  first,  while  sentimental 
love  lasts,  this  want  will  not  be  so  much  noticed  ;  bat 
when  these  days  are  past,  and  they  pass  quickly,  if 
there  be  not  a  mutual  sympathy  in  reason  and  relig- 
ion, an  intellectunl  and  a  social  level,  love  will  die  out, 
and  cold  indifference  or  actual  dislike  will  succeed. 
Unlike  many  foolish  young  girls  who  allow  their  sen- 
timent to  lead  their  judgment,  Eleanor  guided  her 
conduct  by  religious  duty.  Kindly,  and  with  honest 
tears,  she  refused  George  Marchbank's  love,  thanking 
him  for  his  good  opinion  and  telling  him  candidly 
her  reasons. 

''I  am  not  free  to  promise,"  she  said  ;  "and  if  I 
were — although,  as  you  know,  I  esteem  you  highly — 
I  do  not  love  you  except  as  a  dear  friend.  More- 
over, our  difference  of  religious  belief  would  forbid 
our  union." 

'*  But,  Eleanor,"  pleaded  George,  "  I  would  never 
seek  to  interfere  with  your  religious  observances; 
as  my  wife  you  would  be  as  free  to  practise  them  as 
you  are  under  your  father's  roof.  Surely  you  do 
not  doubt  that." 

''  Indeed  I  do  not  doubt  it,  Mr.  Marchbank ;  but 
think  what  a  cold,  unsympathetic  gulf  would  ever 
yawn  between  us!  In  the  one  great  affair  of  life 
we  would  have  nothing  in  common ;  we  could 
assist  each  other  in  temporal  matters,  but  in  spirit- 
ual ones   where   would   be   our    bond  of    union? 


164 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


Do  not,  I  pray,  cause  further  pain  to  yourself  and 


i,     , 


'm 


\  n 


,     i  ■ 


1  ii 


me 


>j 


George  Marchbank  was  confounded.  In  his  own 
easy  way  he  had  thought  little  about  religion; 
but  now,  hearing  those  earnest  words  from  one 
whom  he  loved,  he  felt,  rather  than  understood, 
their  truth.  He  reflected  a  moment  and  then 
said : 

"  If  anything  could  add  to  my  esteem  for  you, 
Eleanor,  it  would  be  these  honest  words  you  have 
just  spoken.  I  am  not,  alas!  a  religions  man,  but  I 
can  respect  and  admire  your  faith.  Yes,  it  is  quite 
clear  now  :  if  you  were  false  to  your  duty  towards 
God  you  would  lose,  as  my  wife,  that  which  I  have 
always  admired  in  you — your  noble  integrity  of  pur- 
pose. My  dream,  for  the  present  at  least,  is  over; 
henceforth  I  will  give  myself  to  my  art;  it  will  be 
the  onlv  bride  I'll  seek  to  win." 

This  conversation  passed  on  the  banks  of  the  St. 
Lawrence  on  the  night  before  Geoi-ge's  departure. 
He  called  next  day  to  say  good-bye  to  Eleanor  and 
her  parents.  Although  he  and  she  had  parted  the 
best  of  friends,  a  mutual  reserve  or  shyness  had  suc- 
ceeded to  the  candid  avowal  which  each  had  made 
to  tlie  other.  When  the  laying  bare  of  the  heart 
has  caused  pain  instead  of  pleasure,  an  instinctive 
shrinking  is  the  result.  Hence  no  message  had  been 
sent  to  Morgan. 

After  some  further  remarks  between  Morgan  and 
George  the  former  rose  to  depart,  saying : 

"  I  must  take  part  in  the  military  display  in  the 
Square  of  St.  Peter's  this  forenoon.    After  dinner  I 


^m^^B 


EASTER  SUNDAY. 


166 


shall  be  free,  and  I  will  call  on  you.     Of  course  you 
will  go  to  witness  tlie  blessing  from  the  Loggia?" 

"  Oil,  yes !"  replied  George ;  "  I  have  read  so 
much  about  the  Pope  giving  his  blessing  on  Easter 
that  I  shall  see  it  for  myself.  I  will  return  directly 
it  is  over,  and  await  your  arrival." 

With  a  hearty  hand-shake  the  friends  separated. 
Morgan  walked  quickly  back  to  Castel  San  Angelo, 
whore  all  was  bustle  and  excitement.  George,  left 
to  himself,  resumed  his  seat  by  the  window,  and 
spoke  half-aloud  : 

"  What  magic  is  there  in  Home  that  attracts  such 
noble  spirits  as  Morgan,  and  makes  them  so  enthusi- 
astic in  her  cause?  lie  would  joyfully  die  fighting 
on  the  walls  of  Itome,  and  I  believe  Eleanor,  despite 
her  great  love  for  him,  would  not  murmur  at  his 
fate.  What  is  the  secret  of  Home's  power  over 
generous  hearts?" 

He  mused  long  over  his  question,  but  could  ar- 
rive at  no  satisfactory  conclusion.  There  are  many 
who  ask  themselves  the  same  question  and  remain 
unanswered.  They  do  not  know  what  it  is  to  be 
animated  by  a  living  faith;  they  cannot  fathom  the 
depths  of  God's  grace  in  a  soul  that  is  illuminated 
by  true  religion,  and  that  endeavors  to  act  according 
to  its  teach  in  ojs.  Those  outside  the  Church  cannot 
understand  the  calm  certainty  regarding  religious 
truths  enjoyed  by  Catholics.  Hence  they  wonder 
at  our  positiveness,  or  they  grow  angry  at  our  stead- 
fastness. The  secret  of  Rome's  influence  does  not. 
and  cannot,  arise  from  anything  human  ;  it  would 
be  a  childish  weakness  to  ascribe  the  enthusiasm  of 


166 


AFTER  WEART   TEARS. 


.   V"    ^ 


.. 


the  great  souls  of  St.  Augustine,  St.  Ambrose,  St. 
Jerome,  St.  Thomas,  or  that  of  the  hosts  of  pilgrims 
in  our  own  day,  to  any  liuman  motive.  The  magic 
of  Rome  lies  in  the  supernatural  faith  of  which  she 
is  the  visible  head  and  guardian.  Perhaps  George 
Marchbank  may  one  day  learn  this. 

But  now  the  streets  were  alive  and  noisy.  Cab- 
men rushed  furiously  along  at  a  pace  which  seemed 
inconsistent  with  the  holding  together  of  the  fraine- 
work  of  their  emaciated  nags.  Staid  old  gentlemen, 
guiding  despondent  curs,  wormed  slowly  their  dan- 
gerous way  between  cab-wheels,  curbstones,  and 
oxen's  horns.  Sturdy  peasant  women,  ari'ayed  in 
parti-colored  dresses,  and  with  squares  of  cloth  of 
bright  hues  fastened  to  tl>eir  knotted  hair  by  means 
of  steel  bars,  terminated  in  gilt  knobs,  strutted  along, 
endangering  the  eyes  of  shuffling  pedestrians  with 
those  formidable  hair-pins.  These  gilt-capped  bars 
of  steel  are  at  once  an  adornment  of  the  head  and  a 
weapon  of  defence,  in  case  of  need.  In  the  hands 
of  an  enraged  virago  one  of  these  hair-pins  would 
be  equal  to  any  stiletto.  The  hum  of  many  voices 
arose  from  the  square  in  front  of  the  hotel  in  which 
George  Marchbank  sat,  and  he  was  surprised  to  hear 
nearly  every  one  speaking  English.  He  did  not 
know,  at  that  time,  that  the  vicinitj'  of  Piazza  di 
Spagna  is  the  "English  quarter,"  as  the  Komans 
term  it.  During  the  winter  months  thousands  of 
Englishmen  visit  Rome,  and  they  generally  reside 
near  this  square. 

After  the  usual  Roman  breakfast  of  a  cup  of  cof- 
fee and  a  light  roll,  George  Marchbank  sallied  forth 


iPm 


EASTER  SUNDAY. 


167 


to  mingle  with  the  moving  throng.  He  had  no 
need  to  inquire  liis  way  to  St.  Peter's ;  he  was  sure 
that  tlie  steady  tide  of  human  beings  was  setting  in 
towards  that  spot.  Floating,  as  it  were,  with  the 
current  he  was  carried  down  the  Via  dei  Condotti, 
across  the  Corso,  past  the  ancient  "  Albergo  dell' 
Orso,"  the  theatre  and  down  to  the  bridge  of  San 
Atigelo.  At  the  corner  of  every  intersecting  street 
fresh  tributary  streams  of  carriages  and  persons 
afoot  swelled  the  main  one,  and  ere  he  had  reached 
tlie  bridge  it  was  impossible  to  turn  right  or  left; 
he  could  only  helplessly  float  on,  and  slowly  too. 
Dragoons  kept  order  at  the  approach  to  the  bridge, 
and  here  one's  patience  is  put  to  a  sore  test.  Any 
one  who  may  ever  be  in  similar  straits  will  find  that 
the  least  troublesome,  most  philosophic,  and  proba- 
bly the  quickest  means  of  passing  over  is  to  keep 
one's  face  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  crossing, 
and  with  a  sublime  disregard  of  a  battered  hat,  a 
crushed  dress,  and  a  torn  train,  to  employ  all  one's 
strength  in  keeping  an  upright  position  and  a  cool 
temper,  and  one  will  find  orie's-self  across  without 
well  knowing  how  it  came  to  pass.  There  are  some 
ill-regulated  minds  that  torture  themselves  griev- 
ously when  crossing  this  bridge  on  Esister  Sunday. 
Seeing  a  momentary  gap  in  the  carriage-way  they 
will  make  a  dash  to  occupy  it;  but  a  prancing  span 
just  then  turns  the  corner,  a  shout  is  heard  from  the 
coachman,  the  warm  breath  of  the  foaming  steeds 
is  felt  on  their  faces ;  nothing  but  ignoble  retreat 
remains.  Others  again,  wishing  to  save  their  dresses, 
or  fearing  to  come  in  contact  with  plebeians,  daintily 


c:: 


168 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


I 


$1 
I" 


gather  up  their  skirts  and  stand  against  the  parapet 
of  the  bridge  "  to  let  the  crowd  pass."  But  unemo- 
tional police  officers  tell  them  to  "  move  on,"  for  no 
one  on  such  a  day  is  allowed  to  stand  on  the  sidewalk 
of  the  biidge ;  on  they  must  go,  and  the  chances  are 
a  thousand  to  one  that  they  will  lose  their  tern  per 
and  inwardly  curse  the  police  for  doing  their  duty. 
George  Marclibank  acted  on  the  philosophic  prin- 
ciple, and  was  carried  safely  across  and  up  the  street 
into  the  Square  of  St.  Peter's.  Here  the  immense 
crowd  spread  itself  out  over  this  vast  area,  and  sub- 
sided into  a  peaceful  calm,  not  unlike  the  St.  Law- 
rence when  it  v.idens  out  into  a  smiling  bay  after 
liaving  foamed  through  a  narrow  pass.  Here  each 
one  inhaled  a  long  and  placid  breath,  and  with  a 
self-satisfied  smile  looked  beamingly  back  at  the 
crush  in  the  narrow  defile  through  which  they  had 
passed.  Within  the  mighty  church  a  dense  mass 
filled  every  available  nook.  The  devout  worshipper, 
the  scoffing  unbeliever,  the  respectable  sight-seer 
were  all  huddled  together,  and  all  anxiously  await- 
ing the  arrival  of  the  Pope.  At  the  side  altars 
priests  were  saying  mass,  and  bowed  heads  and 
kneeling  forms  attested  that  very  many  were  offer- 
ing up  their  prayers  to  the  Godhead's  throne.  The 
solemn  gloom  of  the  great  basilica  was  relieved  by 
thousands  of  waxen  candles,  glowing  like  distant 
stars  in  chandeliers  suspended  a  hundred  feet  from 
the  floor.  Beneath  each  lofty  arch,  around  the 
Corinthian  capital  of  each  pilaster,  along  the  archi- 
traves, and  dangling  from  the  groined  ceiling, 
burned  myriad  lights  that  flashed  on  the  costly 


EASTER  SUNDAY. 


169 


marbles,  the  delicate  mosaic  altar-pieces,  and  the 
majestic  statues  of  the  saints.  The  grand  monu- 
ments of  the  Popes  glowed  in  the  unusual  light, 
and  lost  in  their  brilliant  transformation  that  awe- 
inspiring  feeling  which  ever  hovers  around  a  tomb. 
Fur  up  from  the  door,  nearly  four  hundred  feet  dis- 
tant, the  majestic  high  altar  stood  in  simple  and  im- 
posing grandeur.  The  church  is  built  in  the  shape 
of  a  Latin  cross,  and  the  Jiltar  stands  in  the  centre 
of  the  intersecting  arms.  Beneath  it  is  the  crypt 
containing  the  bones  of  Sts.  Peter  and  Paul,  reached 
from  the  floor  of  the  church  by  a  double  flight  of 
marble  steps ;  above  it  rises  that  vast  and  wondrous 
dome  "  to  which  Diana's  marvel  was  a  cell."  From 
four  colossal  arches  which  span  the  width  of  the  inter- 
secting arms  of  the  cross-formed  church,  at  a  height 
of  more  than  one  hundred  feet  from  the  ground, 
begins  this  mighty  dome.  At  its  base  it  is  one  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet  in  circumference,  and  then  rises 
gradually  tapering  up  for  three  liundred  feet,  being 
thus  over  four  hundred  feet  high.  The  ball  and 
cross  which  surmount  this  incarnation  of  architec- 
tural skill  make  the  whole  height  four  hundred  and 
thirty-seven  feet.  The  inside  of  the  dome,  above 
the  high  altar,  is  beautifully  decorated,  and  the  vault 
is  covered  with  mosaics.  Far  up,  at  the  very  crown 
of  the  dome, — so  far  that  the  eye  can  scarce  distin- 
guish anything, — a  representation  of  the  Eternal 
Father  looks  lovingly  down  on  this,  the  grandest 
temple  ever  raised  to  His  glory.  A  superb  canopy 
of  bronze,  richly  engraved  with  various  designs,  and 
tastefully  relieved  with  streaks  of  gold  supported 
8 


170 


AFTER  WEARY    TEARS. 


i 


' 


i 


on  four  huge  twisted  columns  of  gilt  bronze  over 
seventy  feet  high,  forms  a  magnificent  snield  above 
the  altar.  In  the  extreme  end  of  the  church,  be- 
neath  an  oriel  window  of  glory,  the  chair  of  St- 
Peter,  enclosed  in  a  precious  case,  is  supported  by 
four  colossal  statues  of  four  great  doctors  of  the 
Church,  viz. :  Saints  Augustine  and  Jerome,  Atlia- 
nasius  and  Chrysostoni.  Around  the  high  altar 
ninety-nine  gilt  lamps  burn  night  and  day ;  on  this 
day  thousands  of  other  lights  are  added,  creating  an 
effect  of  lip'^iC  and  beauty  and  illuminating  a  rich- 
ness of  artistic  decoration  such  as  could  be  seen  only 
in  St.  Peter's. 

George  Marchbank  was  bewildered:  he  had  read 
of  fairy  scenes,  but  here  was  one  richer  far  than 
ever  the  imagination  of  a  romancer  could  invent; 
only  a  deep  devotional  faith  could  have  ever  pro- 
duced this  overpowering  combination  of  strength, 
grandeur,  beauty,  and  symmetry.  No  right-minded 
man  could  enter  St.  Peter's  without  feeling  nearer 
to  heaven,  and  without  thinking  that  he  was  in  the 
vestibule  of  the  celestial  Jerusalem.  An  unaccus- 
tomed calm  soothed  the  jaded  feelings  of  young- 
Marchbank ;  an  unusual  light  shone  on  his  soul,  and 
his  heart  was  borne  gently  heavenward  as  he  gazed 
around  with  reverential  awe. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  Pope  began  mass ;  silence 
reigned  through  the  vast  church.  At  the  consecra- 
tion a  burst  of  silvery  music,  far  up  in  the  dome, 
seemed  like  the  grand  chorus  of  ministering  angels 
singing  the  praises  of  their  Lord.  The  effect  of 
this  outburst  of  silver  trumpets  and  sweet  voices  on 


;:;( 


EASTER  SUNDAY. 


171 


tliose  below  is  simply  overpowering.  All  grosser 
thoughts  of  earth  are  put  to  iiight ;  the  rage  of  the 
would-be  murderer  is  appeased  ;  envy  vanishes  like 
tlie  liideous  phantom  of  a  dream  on  awaking;  the 
tlioiiglitless  scoffer  feels  a  thrill  of  awe  ;  and  even 
the  doomed  reprobate  thinks  of  God  for  a  moment. 
On  the  generous  soul  of  George  Marchbank  the 
elTect  was  deep  and  strong.  In  one  swift  panoramic 
glance  he  viewed  his  past  life,  and  saw  how  much 
it  was  out  of  keeping  with  God's  commands ;  he 
swept  the  horizon  of  the  future,  and  felt  how  little 
would  riches,  fame,  and  glory  avail  him,  if  at  death 
liis  soul  would  not  be  met  by  rejoicing  angels  com- 
ing to  bid  him  welcome  to  the  Feast  of  the  Lamb. 
In  the  subdued  glory  of  light,  away  up  by  the  oriel 
window,  he  saw,  or  fancied  he  saw,  the  figun;  of 
Iillcanor  transformed  and  purely  glowing,  beckoning 
liini  out  from  the  darkness  in  which  he  seemed  to 
be  immersed.  A  great,  still  soul-cry  of  anguish 
went  up  from  his  heart ;  the  light  was  all  about 
him,  but  not  in  him  :  he  saw  it  shining  out  from 
the  face  of  a  rude  peasant  by  his  side,  and  sparkling 
in  the  eye  of  a  kneeling  beggar  close  at  hand,  but 
he  was  immersed  in  gloom.  "  Show  me  the  way  in 
which  I  should  walk — show  me  the  way  in  which  I 
should  walk,"  was  all  the  prayer  his  lips  could  form, 
and  from  liis  inmost  soul  he  repeated  it  again  and 
yet  again. 

Slowly  the  lingering  echoes  of  the  silvery  music 
rec(3ded  :  fainter  and  fainter  they  grew  as  the  Avaves 
of  sound  ebbed  gently  upward,  until  they  seemed 
to  die  in  a  gentle  murmur,  up  by  the  image  of  the 


172 


AFTER  WEARY  TEARS. 


Eternal  Father  in  the  crown  of  tlie  dome.  The 
mass  was  finished,  and  the  crowd  began  to  pour  out 
of  the  church. 

The  solemn  benediction  of  the  city  and  the  world 
was  yet  to  be  given  by  the  Pope.  This  is  done 
from  a  balcony  over  the  main  door  of  the  vestibule ; 
beneath,  the  gatliered  faithful  fill  up  the  vast  square. 
Wlien  George  Marchbank  got  out  of  the  churcli. 
his  artistic  soul  could  take  in  and  enjoy  the  impos- 
ing spectacle  presented  to  view.  The  majestic  fa- 
cade of  the  church,  its  giant  pillars  and  noble  en- 
tablatures'; its  crest  of  marble  statues,  and  the 
graceful  dome  springing  lieavenward  behind  them, 
formed  a  magnificent  background.  The  semicircu- 
lar coloimades,  which  start  from  each  corner  of  the 
fagade  and  run  half-way  round  the  square,  are  a  tit- 
ting  approach  to  the  noble  temple.  Each  colonnade 
has  four  rows  of  huge  pillars,  each  row  numbering 
about  a  hundred  ;  these  support  an  entablature 
<.  rowned  with  marble  statues.  An  immense  Egyp- 
tian obelisk,  over  ninety  feet  high,  stands  in  the 
centre  of  the  square  on  a  grand  pedestal  of  mar))le. 
At  corresponding  distances  on  each  side  of  this 
obelisk,  magnificent  fountains  send  up  with  almost 
a  roar  a  jet  of  water  to  the  height  of  seventy  feet. 
Gradually  divided  and  weakened  by  tlie  resistance 
of  the  air,  the  jet  bends  gracefully  back  to  earth  in 
a  crystal  shower,  in  which  rainbows  sport  at  every 
glance  of  a  sunbeam..  Half-way  up  the  lofty  flight 
of  steps,  marble  statues  of  Saints  Peter  and  Paul, 
one  on  each  side,  guard  the  entrance  to  the  sacred 
precincts. 


'"*«■  ■ 


EASTER  SUNDAY. 


173 


Packed  in  this  square,  close  by  the  towering 
obelisk  and  under  the  mist  from  the  fountains,  on 
the  steps  and  far  away  to  the  farthest  ends  of  the 
square,  aloft  on  the  roof  of  the  colonnades,  and  on 
distant  house-tops,  more  than  100,000  persons  were 
waiting.  Military,  horse,  foot,  and  artillery,  were 
drawn  out  in  order ;  strange  costumes  met  the  eye 
at  every  glance ;  strange  tongues  fell  on  the  ear 
from  every  side.  It  was  a  miniature  of  the  Day  of 
Tiidgment,  for  every  nation,  and  tribe,  and  state  of 
life  were  represented.  But  amidst  the  hum  of 
voices  and  the  uneasy  swaying  of  this  nndtitude, 
every  eye  was  continually  turning  to  one  spot — to 
f;  the  balcony  over  the  main  door  of  the  vestibule. 
And  why  ?  Was  some  gorgeous  pageant  to  be  there 
presented  to  view?  or  was  a  glimpse  of  i^  spirit 
world  to  be  vouchsafed  to  mortals  ?  Protestant  as 
well  as  Catholic,  Jew,  Infidel,  and  Turk  anxiously 
gazed  towards  the  same  point.  And  still  only  a 
weak  old  man  was  expected  to  appear.  Again 
might  George  Marchbank  ask  himself  the  question, 
"What  is  the  secret  of  Rome's  influence,''  and 
the  answer  would  be  the  same — because  the  Pope  is 
Vicar  of  Christ,  visible  head  of  Ilis  Church,  foun- 
tain and  centre  of  unity.  It  was  not  merely  an  old 
man  verging  on  eighty  that  they  were  awaiting,  it 
was  a  Priest  and  King,  the  successor  of  St.  Peter, 
and  the  inheritor  of  his  power  and  dignity.  Could 
aught  else  explain  this  scene  ? 

Soon  the  approach  of  the  Pope  was  perceived ; 
instantaneously  every  head  was  uncovered,  every 
sound  hushed.     The  gentle  plashings  of  the  foun- 


n'..1^ 


174 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


tains  alone  broke  the  absolute  silence.  Borne  aloft 
on  liis  "  Sedia  Gestatoria "  the  Pope  readied  tlie 
balcony.  In  a  clear,  ringing  voice  he  read  some 
prayers,  and  then  stood  up.  He  was  arrayed  in  full 
pontificals,  and  wore  the  tiara.  Stretching  out  his 
liands  in  tlie  form  of  a  cross,  he  began  the  solemn 
words  of  the  Benediction.  A  thrill  passed  through 
every  frame,  and  every  knee  instinctively  bent. 
Nothing  but  Moses  on  the  mountain,  praying  for 
his  battling  people,  could  be  compared  to  the 
sublime  sight  of  Pius  IX.  blessing  the  Avorld. 
George  Marchbank  felt  this,  and  began  to  partly 
understand  the  "  secret  of  Pome's  influence."  As 
the  Pope  brought  his  outsti  etched  hands  together, 
and  tlien  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  the  kneel- 
ing multitude,  the  spell  of  silence  was  ])roken,  and 
pent-up  feelings  found  a  voice.  Cannons  boomed 
from  San  Angelo ;  drums  beat  in  the  square;  bells 
pealed  from  every  turret.  Bnt  higher  tlian  cannons, 
drums,  or  bells,  and  sweeter  to  the  ear,  arose  the 
wild  huzzas  of  tlie  gathered  tliousands.  The  Israel- 
ites did  not  greet  their  great  leader,  Moses,  after 
the  battle  gained  through  his  prayers,  witli  half  the 
warmth  of^loving  affection  with  which  Catholics  of 
every  clime  hailed  Pius  IX.,  as  he  retired,  with 
shouts  of  "  Long  live  Pius  IX.,  Pope  and  King." 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW. 


175 


CHAPTER  XL 


OLD    FRIENDS    AND   NEW. 


Peacefully  ran  the  St.  Lawrence  this  warm  June 
mornino;;  gaylj  sanp^  the  birds  in  the  groves  along 
its  banks ;  l)rigljt  shone  the  sun  on  trenibb'ng  leaves 
and  i»:rass-covered  knolls,  and  the  dark-screen  blades 
of  the  rich-growing  wheat  crop.  The  chill  grasp  of 
winter  had  been  loosened  weeks  ago  ;  the  icy  fetters, 
against  which  the  noble  river  had  chafed  in  vain, 
had  melted  with  the  advance  of  spring,  and  once 
more  the  smiJins:  waters  of  the  8t.  Lawrence  bore 
proudly  on  their  tide  the  growing  commerce  of  the 
young  Dominion.  Down  the  mighty  river  it  lioated 
this  clear  June  day,  down  to  tlie  distant  Atlantic, 
thence  to  be  wafted  to  various  climes.  Far  off,  the 
slu'ill  screech  of  snorting  eno-ines  started  the  echoes 
in  many  a  mountain  dell ;  repeated  from  hill,  and 
rock,  and  giant  oak,  it  struck  against  the  cliffs  of  the 
St.  Lawrence,  and  joined  the  chorus  of  deep-toned 
wliistles  given  forth  by  the  pufling  steamers.  To- 
gether they  careered  wildly  down  the  banks  of  the 
river,  leaping  from  crag  to  promontory,  clearing  the 
gorges  and  ravines,  and  gleefully  exulting  in  the 
signs  of  prosperity  shown  by  our  fair  Dominion. 

Brightly  the  sun  shone  down  on  many  a  beauteous 
object  in  the  shining  river,  on  its  herby  banks,  and 
in  the  leafy  hoult;  but  on  no  fairer  sight  did  its 
genial  rays  fall  than  on  Eleanor  Leahy  as  she  sat  on 


■ 


■( 


I  i 


I 


176 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


the  spot  where  first  we  beheld  her  and  Morgan. 
There  are  many  natural  beauties  which  charm  the 
eye  and  appeal  to  our  sensibility :  the  moonlight 
ehimmering  on  a  well-trimmed  lawn  ;  a  broken  land- 
scape exhibiting  every  variety  of  light  and  shade ;  a 
gently  rippling  stream,  or  a  moss-covered  dale — eacli 
has  its  charms  and  its  ennobling  effect.  But  in 
visible  creation  there  is  no  sight  so  fair  to  the  eye  as 
the  speaking  lineaments  of  a  noble  countenance.  In 
them  are  blended  the  chastened  beams  of  the  moon, 
every  light  and  shade  of  smiling  landscape,  every 
playful  wake  of  the  running  waters,  and  the  quiet 
repose  of  the  mossy  dell ;  and,  more  than  this,  each 
one  of  these  charms  is  actuated  and  illumed  with  the 
sparkling  light  of  intelligence.  Yes ;  the  face  of  a 
noble  person  is  the  embodiment  of  all  natural 
beauty. 

As  Eleanor  sat  partly  shaded  by  a  leafy  beech- 
tree,  her  expressive  features  underwent  a  variety  of 
change.  She  was  reading  a  letter  from  Morgan,  in 
which  he  gave  an  animated  description  of  the  Easter 
festivities  in  Rome.  He  spoke  of  George  March- 
bank,  and  expressed  his  delight  at  meeting  him  so 
far  away  from  home.  Of  his  chosen  companion, 
Lorenzo,  he  had  spoken  in  other  letters  and  now  en- 
larged again  on  his  many  noble  qualities.  In  fact, 
through  the  letters  of  Morgan  to  Eleanor,  and  his 
conversations  with  Lorenzo,  the  two  latter  were 
almost  intimately  acquainted.  Now  any  one  knows 
that  under  such  circumstances  it  was  quite  natural 
for  each  of  tliese  to  take  an  interest  in  the  other,  and 
to  form  an  idea  of  each  other.     Eleanor  half  wished 


OLD  FRIENDS   AND  NEW. 


177 


that  Lorenzo  might  bear  a  resemblance  to  the  bright- 
faced,  dreamy-eyed  boy  whose  picture  hung  between 
her  own  and  Morgan's,  in  Mrs.  Barton's  quiet  home. 
She  fancied  what  Denis  Barton  would  now  be,  had 
he  lived,  and  she  wished  and  thought  that  Lorenzo 
was  like  him.  On  the  other  hand,  as  Lorenzo  ex- 
imined  the  likeness  of  the  golden-haired  child  given 
..im  by  his  father,  he  amused  his  lively  imagination 
by  discovering  traces  of  resemblance  between  it  and 
what  he  imagined,  from  Morgan's  conversations, 
Eleanor  must  be.  Often,  too,  he  thought  of  his 
mother,  vainly  endeavoring  to  recall  her  features ; 
his  heart  went  out  in  a  gush  of  tenderness  towards 
her  as  he  pictured  himself  sitting  on  her  knee,  and 
anmsing,  while  he  worried  her,  with  his  childish 
prattle. 

After  Eleanor  had  read  and  re-read  Morgan's  let- 
ter she  came  thoughtfully  down  the  hillside  and 
walked  towards  the  cottage  of  Mrs.  Barton.  On  en- 
tering she  noticed  an  excited  look  on  the  usually  sad 
and  pensive  countenance  of  her  elderly  friend. 

"I  have  just  received  a  long  letter  from  Morgan, 
and  he  sends,  as  usual,  many  kind  remembrances  to 
you.  If  you  are  at  leisure  I  will  read  it  to  you. 
But  has  anything  happened,  Mrs.  Barton  ?  You  do 
not  look  quite  yourself." 

"Nothing  to  be  alarmed  about,  my  dear  child,'' 
answered  the  good  woman  in  her  usual  tone  of  quiet 
affection.  "  I  was  thinking  about  you,  and  many 
things  just  now.  I  am  growing  old,  and  my  heart 
is  sometimes  anxious — anxious  to  see  you  here  as 
mistress  of  this  old  home.  But  I  trust  in  God,  and 
8* 


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mm 


178 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


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reconcile  myself  to  His  will,  feeling  sure  that  it  will 
one  day  coine  to  pass." 

"Ah,  dear  mother!"  said  the  affectionate  girl, 
using  that  term  of  endearment  as  she  always  did 
when  Mrs.  Barton  spoke  of  her  lost  boy.  "  Ah,  dear 
mother,  who  can  tell  ?  Try  to  think  less  on  this 
subject ;  if  ever  it  is  to  happen  it  will  not  be  brought 
about  more  quickly  by  this  anxious  thought  of  yours, 
and  you  will  be  happier  yourself." 

"  Not  at  all,  my  child  ;  you  are  very  much  mis- 
taken. Tleniember  that  by  God's  grace  I  have  long 
years  ago  bowed  to  his  adorable  will  [she  might  have 
said  from  the  first].  My  grief  is  not  bitter,  the  cup 
was  mercifully  sweetened.  I  have  also,  as  you  well 
know,  a  firm  belief  that  my  boy  still  lives.  This 
being  the  case,  next  to  the  pleasure  of  actually  see- 
ing him  here,  with  you  as  his  wife,  is  that  of  pictur- 
ing it  in  my  mind.  Believe  me,  the  artist  enjoys  a 
real  and  consoling  joy  in  contemplating  the  idenl  of 
liis  future  work ;  it  is  not  equal  in  intensity  to  the 
thrill  he  experiences  when  viewing  his  finished 
piece ;  yet  it  is  real,  and  nerves  him  on  to  his  task 
when  difficulties  beset  his  path.  The  well-regulated 
mind,  even  if  shut  out  from  all  human  society,  can 
still  enjoy  itself  with  bright  imaginings  of  what  yet 
may  be." 

"It  seems  to  me,  Mrs.  Barton,  that  you  have 
studied  the  human  mind  deeply ;  what  you  say 
startles  me  at  first,  but  I  always  find  that  your  ex- 
planation makes  everything  clear.  Yes  ;  I  see  now 
that  a  mind  duly  subject  to  God  may  think  with 
pleasure  on  what  would  be  a  matter  of  pain  to  the 


OLD   FRIENDS    AND   NEW. 


179 


irreligious.  Bnt,  at  least,  your  thinking  of  it  will 
not  bring  it  about  any  sooner/' 

"  I  would  not  have  you  be  too  sure  of  tliat,  either, 
dear  Eleanor.  In  the  first  place,  by  frequently  think- 
ing on  it,  I  frequently  pray  God  to  hasten,  if  it  be 
his  will,  the  desired  consummation.  Again — possi- 
bly I  shall  startle  you,"  she  said  with  a  sweetly  sad 
smile,  "  but  I  am  not  superstitious;  neither  would 
I  wish  to  hold  any  theory  that  might  be  wrong — 
may  not  one  mind  act  in  some  mysterious  way  on 
another  during  life  ?  If  the  grosser  forces  of  mat- 
ter can  act  on  one  another,  may  not  the  subtle  spirit 
forces  do  as  much,  though  in  a  modified  manner? 
To  me  it  seems  that  they  can  ;  if  then  my  darling 
boy  be  alive,  the  longing  thoughts,  the  intense  yearn- 
ings of  a  mother's  soul  may  awaken  a  responsive 
chord  in  his,  and  arouse  him  to  think  of  and  in- 
quire about  the  mother  whom,  perhaps,  he  might 
otherwise  cease  to  remember." 

"  I  am  not,"  said  Eleanor  with  a  smile, "  sufficiently 
clear  on  the  point  either  to  agree  with  or  to  contra- 
dict your  opinion.  Your  strong  mind  and  long 
habits  of  reflection  cavise  you  to  see  these  things 
more  clearly,  perhaps." 

"  A  mother's  heart,  Eleanor,  catches,  perhaps,  at 
vain  theories ;  still  this  does  not  appear  wild  or  im- 
probable. Our  soul  is  an  image,  a  faint  one  indeed, 
of  the  Infinite  ;  lie  can  act  on  our  minds  ;  perchance 
tlie  faint  image  may  be  able  to  exercise  a  faint  action 
on  its  fellows.     But  let  me  hear  Morgan's  letter." 

Eleanor  read  aloud  the  epistle.  Mrs.  Barton  was 
delighted  at  the  account  of  the  Easter  celebration ; 


180 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


i':Wi' 


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^'.■.    2 


she  too,  like  Eleanor,  was  interested  in  Morgan's 
companion  Lorenzo. 

"  What  a  blessing  it  is  for  him,  Eleanor,  to  have 
met  with  such  an  agreeable  companion !  A  true 
friend  is  a  veritable  treasure.  I  can  well  imagine 
that  under  few  circumstances  can  the  value  of  a 
friend  be  so  truly  gauged,  as  when  one  is  in  a  for- 
eign land.  Morgan's  strong  sense  of  right  and  duty 
would  be  a  good  safeguard  against  evil ;  but  even 
the  best  may  gain  in  virtue  by  association  with 
a  virtuous  friend.  The  mutual  play  of  mind  on 
mind  in  their  conversations  tends  to  strengthen 
their  purpose ;  and  the  incentive  of  good  example 
is  continually  before  the  eye.  None  can  tell  how 
far  out  into  the  world,  or  how  far  down  the  path- 
way of  time,  the  influence  of  a  good  man  may  ex- 
tend. His  very  presence  is  a  sermon  in  itself  ;  and 
the  unconscious  glimpses  of  his  inner  virtue  which 
he  affords  by  casual  remarks  are  potent  incentives 
to  higher  and  holier  purposes.  But  your  thoughts 
do  not  appear  to  be  at  home,  Eleanor." 

"In  truth,  Mrs.  Barton,  they  were  far  enough 
away ;  they  were  with  Morgan  and  his  friends  in 
Rome.  He  has  now  Mr.  Marchbank  as  well  as 
Lorenzo,  about  whom  he  is  as  enthusiastic.  He 
thinks  Mr.  Marchbank  will  yet  be  a  great  painter; 
I  sincerely  hope  he  may." 

"I  scarcely  thought  that  George  Marchbank 
would  have  left  his  home ;  I  almost  feared  that  he 
might  step  in  between  my  lost  boy  and  what  I 
know  would  be  the  object  of  his  affections.  You 
know  he  loved  you,  Eleanor." 


OLD   FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


181 


A  deep  flush  of  confusion  overspread  Eleanor's 
honest  face ;  she  did  not  wish  to  reveal  George 
Marchbank's  declaration, — and  she  would  not  tell  an 
untruth.     Very  softly  she  replied : 

"  We  were  intimate  from  our  youth,  and  always 
conversed  pleasantly  together.  This  does  not  neces- 
sarily imply  love  on  either  side.  I  was  pleased  with 
his  manly  qualities  and  generous  disposition  ;  I  sup- 
pose he  found  me  sufficiently  entertaining,  and  thus 
we  kept  up  a  friendly  intercourse." 

"Eleanor,"  said  Mrs.  Barton,  taking  the  fair  girl's 
hand,  "  before  I  tell  you  the  cause  of  the  excited  look 
which  you  remarked  when  you  came  in,  answer  me 
one  question.  It  is  not  prompted,  as  you  will 
readily  know,  by  any  desire  to  pry  into  the  secrets 
of  your  heart ;  it  is  merely  for  your  own  peace — 
and,  perhaps,  the  peace  of  another.  Do  you  know 
the  state  of  your  feelings  towards  George  March- 
bank  ?" 

For  a  moment  Eleanor  appeared  lost  in  thought ; 
then  she  answered :  "  To  be  candid,  I  never  really 
analyzed  my  regard  for  him ;  but  this  much  I  can 
safely  say,  that  never  would  I  marry  one  not  of  my 
own  faith,  no  matter  how  strongly  the  affections 
might  tempt  me.  If  I  cannot  have  the  blessing  of 
our  Church  on  my  marriage,  and  a  husband  wiio 
can  sympathize  with  my  religious  practices,  I  will 
remain  forever  single.  Of  this  much,  with  God's 
grace,  I  am  certain." 

"But  suppose  that  George  March  bank  were  to  be 
converted?  It  might  easily  happen,  now  he  is  in 
Rome." 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14S80 

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182 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


"  I  do  not  know  how  love  arises  in  the  soul ;  nor 
do  I  know  what  particular  quality  in  a  young  man 
might  excite  my  regard  for  him ;  but  I  think  that, 
even  were  Mr.  Marchl)ank  a  Catholic,  he  would 
never  inspire  me  with  other  feelings  than  those  of 
close  friendsliip." 

"  What  a  beautiful  soul !  what  a  beautiful  soul ;  so 
pure,  God-feari.ig,  and  straightforward  !" — this  was 
the  unspoken  soliloquy  of  Mrs.  Barton.  And  slie 
was  right.  In  these  artificial  days  young  hearts  are 
frequently  bligiitcd  with  affectation,  and  what  ouglit 
to  be  the  frank  disposition  of  a  confiding  nature  is 
too  often  a  crooked  disingenuoiisness.  It  is  by  many 
considered  a  clever  piece  of  romance  to  hide  the 
affections  of  the  heart  from  the  eyes  of  all,  even 
from  p{;!'ents,  and  to  sneak  into  matrimony  by  night, 
with  the  stealth  of  an  expert  housebreaker.  Eleanor 
did  not  belong  to  this  class  of  simpering  girls  who 
seek  to  throw  an  effect  around  a  pure  affection 
of  the  soul.  Slie  would  never  bestow  her  affec- 
tions on  an  unworthy  object;  and,  if  she  truly 
loved  a  noble  man,  she  did  not  consider  it  a  some- 
thing which  she  ought  to  hide  from  her  dearest 
friends. 

■   Mrs.  Barton  remained  silent  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  began : 

"  Last  evening  I  was  sitting  by  the  door  watching 
the  gathering  shades  of  night.  I  had  just  finished 
my  rosary  beads,  and  allowed  my  mind  to  amuse 
itself  with  fantastic  imaginings.  As  the  warm  tints 
of  sunset  slowly  gave  place  to  the  gray  coloring  of 
twilight,  I  thought  how  expressive  it  was  of  the 


OLD'  FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


183 


course  of  a  human  life.  For  a  brief  span  we  are  all 
aglow  with  hope  and  bright  anticipations ;  the  little 
cares  of  life  are  gilt  with  reflected  rays  from  our 
youthful  hopes,  and  become  object*  of  beauty  like 
the  small  clouds  bathed  in  the  sunset's  glory ;  but 
soon  the  advance  of  old  age,  creeping  nearer  and 
nearer,  darkens  our  bright  life-picture,  and  unmasks 
the  erst  gaily  veiled  cares  of  earth,  showing  them 
stern  and  cold,  just  as  the  approach  of  night  casts  a 
leaden  hue  over  the  purple  and  gold  of  the  sunset, 
and  makes  the  small  clouds  stand  out  frowning  and 
gloomy.  But  though  our  course  on  earth  may  be 
brief,  and  checkered  with  lines  of  care,  if  we  be  true 
to  our  God  a  glorious  resurrection,  heralded  by  an 
angel,  awaits  us,  even  as  a  lovely  rising,  ushered  in 
by  a  beaming  aurora,  awaits  the  sun  just  set. 

"This  was  the  nature  of  my  fancies,  when  I  was 
all  at  once  rudely  brought  down  from  my  aerial 
flights  by  becoming  aware  of  a  person  standing  on 
tlie  doorstep,  but  half-concealed  by  the  door-post. 
It  was  the  iigure  of  a  man  muffled  in  a  loose  cloak. 
The  outlines  of  his  form,  as  thus  seen,  bore  no 
resemblance  to  those  of  any  one  whom  I  can  now 
recall.  In  a  low  voice,  and  with,  as  I  thought,  a 
foreign  accent,  he  asked  me  if  I  were  not  Mrs.  Bar- 
ton.    '  I  am,'  was  my  only  answer. 

"  '  Are  you  the  woman  whose  son  disappeared  so 
mysteriously  many  years  ago  ? ' 

" '  Yes ;  do  you  knov;  aught  of  iiim  ?  or  how  do 
you  know  anything  about  him  ? '  I  faintly  articu- 
lated. 

"  Without  replying  to  my  question  he  continued : 


mKm 


pmrt 


"I  f.'t 


184 


AFTER  WEARY  TEARS. 


" '  Is  there  a  family  hereabout  named  Leahy  3 ' 

"*They  are  ray  next  neighbors.  But  what  of 
them  ? ' 

"  *  There  was  a  son ;  where  is  he  ? ' 

"  *  A  soldier  in  Eome ;  gone  to  defend  the  rights 
of  Holy  Church.' 

^' '  And  the  daughter,  what  of  her  ?  Is  she  mar- 
ried ?     Is  she  fair  and  good  ? ' 

"  *  These  are  strange  questions/  I  said,  *  from  a 
stranger ;  but  Eleanor  Leahy  is  unmarried ;  and  a 
fairer  or  more  virtuous  girl  is  not  in  our  whole 
Dominion.' " 

"  Rather  strong  expressions,  Mrs.  Barton,"  quietly 
smiled  Eleanor. 

"Only  the  truth,  my  dear;  but  let  that  pass. 
The  strange  man  paused  for  a  moment,  and  some 
strong  inward  struggle  was  taking  place.  A  nervous 
twitching,  as  of  keen  pain,  convulsed  his  frame ;  he 
glanced  towards  heaven,  and  tlien  looking  at  me 
began : 

"  *  Did  you  suffer  much  ?  Do  you  yet  suffer  ?  Do 
you  expect  to  meet  your  son  on  earth  ? ' 

" '  Oh !  can  you  ask  me  that  ?  God  knows  what  I 
Buffered,  and  he  knows  that  I  yet  hope  to  meet  my 
boy  on  earth.' 

"  *  How  little  do  we  think  on  the  pain  we  inflict  on 
others  by  gratifying  a  whim  of  our  own !  If  we 
were  only  to  measure  what  tlieir  affections  must 
suffer  by  comparing  it  with  what  our  fancy  endures 
when  disappointed,  we  would  be  more  cautious  and 
thoughtful.  But  if  you  think  your  boy  still  lives, 
you  must  think  that  some  one  carried  him  off. 


•  1 
it 


m 


OLD  FBIENDS  AND  NEW. 


186 


Surely  the  cnree  of  a  bereaved  mother  must  sit 
heavily  on  his  soul.* 

*'  As  he  said  this  his  voice  appeared  to  tremble, 
and  his  whole  person  to  shake.    I  answered : 

"  *  Never  has  a  curse  on  any  one  passed  my  lips ; 
nor  has  one  ever  been  formed  in  my  mind.  I  try 
to  remember  the  meekness  of  my  Saviour,  and  I 
pray  for  my  boy,  and  for  his  abductor  that  God  may 
sotien  his  heart.* 

" '  Say  you  so,  say  you  so,'  he  repeated  with  evi- 
dent joy ;  *  then  my  days  may — but  time  passes. 
Mark  my  words,  Mrs.  Barton  :  your  son  lives, — ^you 
shall  yet  see  him  in  life.' 

"  I  think  I  fainted ;  when  next  I  remember  any- 
thing the  stranger  was  moving  away  from  the  door. 
I  tried  to  shout,  but  I  could  only  faintly  gasp, 
'Where  is  my  lost  Denis? ' 

"  '  Where  is  he  doing  good.  Ask  no  more,  but 
bless  me  in  your  prayers.' 

"  Quickly  he  vanished  in  the  gloom.  A  moment 
after  I  heard  the  rapid  whirling  of  a  carriage  in  the 
direction  of  Montreal,  and  ere  I  could  recover  from 
my  astonishment  and  joy  he  was  miles  away." 

During  this  recital  Eleanor  had  been  keenly  watch- 
ing Mrs.  Barton's  countenance,  as  if  she  feared  that 
lier  fancy  had  conjured  up  this  scene  along  with  her 
other  imaginings.  But  although  there  was  the  least 
possible  trace  of  excitement  in  Mrs.  Barton's  man- 
ner, quite  natural  under  the  circumstances,  her 
iisnal  calm  and  sweetly  pensive  expression  was  the 
same.  Eleanor  felt  convinced  that  Mrs.  Barton  had 
not  imagined  the  scene :  but  was  it  only  some  heart- 


:;  f 


If— 

I.  > 


.  t-is,fc;S 


186 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


less  hoax  of  an  unthinking  wag;  or  was  it  the 
repentant  admissions  of  a  guilty  conscience  ?  Mrs. 
Barton  was  quite  persuaded  of  the  latter.  Tlie 
man's  whole  conversation,  tone  of  voice,  and  action 
were  such  as  could  not,  in  her  opinion,  be  reconciled 
with  any  otl^er  theory. 

"This  accounts,  my  dear  child,  for  my  excited 
look,  and  for  my  questions  concerning  your  feelings 
towards  young  Marchbank.  God  forbid  that  I  should 
try  to  lead  you  against  whatever  may  b(}  your  duty, 
but  I  thought  it  well  to  know  your  sentiments." 

A  puzzled  look  appeared  on  Eleanor's  face ;  a 
look  that  often  shone  there  when  Mrs.  Barton  used 
to  speak  in  this  strain.  The  reason  of  its  appear- 
ance will  be  gathered  from  the  following  remark 
which  she  now  made  : 

"  But  it  seems  to  me,  dear  mother,  that  we  assume. 
or  you  at  least,  something  for  which  we  have  no 
warrant.  You  speak  as  though  Denis,  even  were  he 
to  return  now,  would  be  desirous  of  having  me  for 
a  wife.  We  do  not  know  that;  perhaps  he  may 
already  be  married !" 

"  Denis,"  replied  Mrs.  Barton,  "  was  very  much 
like  me,  both  in  appearance  and  disposition  ;  he 
would  be  sure  to  be  attracted  by  the  same  objects  as 
I ;  he  would  love  as  a  wife  the  girl  T  would  choose  as 
a  daughter.  Moreover,  it  was  not  at  random  that 
the  stranger  asked  if  you  were  married.  He  has 
known  something  of  your  childish  betrothal,  and 
may  have  wished  to  ascertain  what  hopes  remain  of 
having  it  ratified."       '■' 

It  was  agreed  between  them  to  keep  this  strange 


IP 


OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW. 


187 


atoiy  a  secret  for  the  present.  Many  might  set  it 
down  as  the  vision  of  a  diseased  mind  ;  others 
might  be  led  to  make  too  much  talk  about  it.  This 
being  settled,  Eleanor  returned  home  and  prepared 
to  write  to  Morgan.  ^ 


In  the  mean  time  how  fares  it  with  our  friends  in 
Rome  ?  It  is  June,  but  not  the  soft,  genial  June  of 
a  Canadian  f^ummer.  The  old  Tiber  runs  as  proudly, 
if  not  as  grandly,  as  the  St.  Lawrence.  It  does  not 
bear  down  to  the  Mediterranean  as  many  laden  ships 
and  puffing  steamers  as  its  Canadian  brother ;  but  it 
boasts  a  history  more  remote,  and  a  classical  immor- 
tality not  yet  bestowed  on  the  St.  Lawrence  by 
gifted  poets.  It  may  bear  on  its  yellow  waters  no 
wonderful  signs  of  material  activity,  but  its  every 
ripple  whispers  of  aesthetic  culture,  and  its  every 
curling  wavelet  sings  the  praises  of  the  humanizing 
arts  and  sciences  which  it  salutes  on  its  way  through 
the  City  of  the  Popes.  The  eye  may  be  charmed 
with  the  broad  expanse  of  St.  Lawrence's  swelling 
waters ;  the  ear  may  be  placed  with  the  dashing  of 
its  miglity  current ;  but  the  Tiber  overpowers  the 
mind  with  the  vastness  of  its  associations,  and  stirs 
tlie  heart  with  the  tale  of  its  glory. 

So  thought  George  Marchbank  as  he  wandered 
along  its  course.  Before  settling  down  to  work  he 
had  spent  some  weeks  in  visiting  the  chief  objects 
of  interest  in  and  around  Rome.  The  museums  and 
art  galleries  were  his  favorite  places  of  resort;  in 
these  his  artist-soul  found  itself  in  congenial  sur- 


m 


11 


188 


AFTER  WEABT  tTEABS. 


ronndings.  Encompassed  by  the  beautifnl  he  forgot 
earth  and  its  cares ;  he  forgot  Eleanor,  or  only  re- 
membered her  when  his  eye  detected  some  slight 
resemblance  between  her  face  and  some  lovely  pic- 
ture. 

He  visited  the  great  churches  to  feast  his  eyes  on 
their  gorgeous  finish,  and  to  inspire  his  brush  by 
gazing  on  their  exquisite  paintings.  The  grand 
canvas  by  Romanelli  representing  the  presentation 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin  in  the  Temple,  preserved  in 
"  St.  Mary  of  the  Angels,"  attracted  his  heart.  The 
lovely  childish  beauty  of  the  Virgin,  at  four  years, 
through  which  the  artist  caused  a  gleam  of  womanly 
grace  and  intelligence  to  sparkle,  marked  off  from 
among  all  others  her  who  had  never  been  stained 
by  sin.  When  in  presence  of  this  or  other  celebra- 
ted paintings  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  he  could  not, 
coldly  as  he  might  reason,  sneer  at  the  devotion  of 
those  who  came  to  say  their  prayers  before  them. 
He  knew  they  did  not  pray  to  the  canvas ;  he  knew 
that  they  came  to  excite  and  enliven  their  piety  by 
contemplating  the  sweet  features  of  the  Mother  of 
God,  and  to  ask  her  to  intercede  for  them.  He 
knew  that  external  aids  are  great  incentives  to  in- 
ternal devotion,  by  reason  of  our  nature.  Just  as  the 
photograph  of  a  friend  will  serve  to  remind  us  of 
our  promise  to  him,  so  will  a  picture  of  Christ,  or 
of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  remind  us  of  their  love  for 
us  and  of  our  promises  to  be  virtuous.  He  felt  how 
good  it  was  to  have  such  an  exemplar  of  virtues  be- 
fore the  mind  by  which  to  try  to  mould  its  actions. 
In  his  visits  to  the  churches  one  thing  struck  him 


OLD  FRIEND8  AND  NEW. 


189 


very  much  ;  other  thoughtful  persons  had  noted  it 
before.  He  was  in  various  churches  at  every  hour 
from  early  morn  till  sundown.  Whenever  he  en- 
tered one  he  always  found  some  persons  praying, 
two,  three,  four — ten.  This  at  first  sight  may  not  ap- 
pear worth  noticing,  but  consider  a  moment :  There 
are  over  350  churches  in  Rome ;  in  each  of  these 
there  are,  at  every  moment  of  the  day,  some  persons 
praying — at  least  an  average  of  three.  This  gives 
1050  persons  constantly  praying  in  church  during 
the  day.  Now  from  observation  George  March- 
bank  soon  found  out  that  these  people  did  not  re- 
main very  long ;  they  said  a  few  prayers  before  the 
Blessed  Sacrament  and  then  an  Ave  Maria  before 
the  altar  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  Supposing,  he  rea- 
soned, that  these  people  are  renewed  every  quarter 
of  an  hour, — that  will  give  4200  persons  per  hour 
who  pray  in  the  churches ;  and  for  ten  hours  42,000. 
Thus,  without  taking  into  account  private  chapels 
and  oratories,  and  on  a  calculation  far  below  the 
reality,  42,000  persons  come  daily  into  the  churches 
of  Rome  to  pray.  With  a  population  of  less  than 
200,000,  all  told,  this  total  of  daily  devotion  was 
great  indeed.  Moreover,  he  found  that  persons  of 
all  classes  made  these  visits  of  prayer :  the  beggars, 
poor  hawkers  of  cigars  and  matches,  artisans,  mer- 
chants, soldiere,  policemen,  young  men,  students, 
monks,  priests,  nobles,  cardinals.  Did  every  visitor 
to  Rome  note  these  things  and  make  a  similar  cal- 
culation, we  would  read  less  ignorant  cant  about 
"  popery." 
The  warm  glow  of  the  June  day  had,  in  part, 


1 kmnmm 

'1   } 

<:% 

■li 


f 

'Ik'. 


190 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


subsided;  the  sun  had  sunk  to  rest  in  a  sea  of  livid 
red,  but  the  flint  paving-stones  of  tlic  streets  and  tlie 
brick  walls  of  the  houses  were  radiating  the  heat 
they  had  acquired  during  the  day,  to  the  oppression 
of  citizens  who  sought  to  enjoy  the  evening  air. 
•To  one  returning  after  sunset  from  the  comparative 
coolness  of  Villa  Borghese  to  the  hot  air  of  the  nar- 
row streets  of  Rome  on  the  eve  of  such  a  day  as 
this  had  been,  the  change  is  most  marked.  It  is 
like  being  suddenly  transported  from  the  temperate 
to  the  torrid  zone.  The  pavement,  sidewalks, 
lampposts,  columns,  and  houses  are  all  sending 
forth,  like  highly  heated  radiators,  their  surplus 
warmth. 

Seated  by  an  open  window  in  the  "Via  della 
Trinita  dei  Monti,"  his  easel  pushed  aside,  George 
Marchbank  was  listening  to  the  last  dying  echoes  of 
the  Benediction  Hymn,  which  faintly  floated  out 
from  the  Convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart.  He  loved 
the  music  of  that  church  and  frequently  went  thither 
to  refresh  his  worn  spirit.  He  was  aroused  by  the 
entrance  of  Morgan  and  Lorenzo.  Moi'scan  was  a 
constant  visitor  to  the  studio  of  George  Marchbank ; 
he  came  whenever  he  had  a  spare  hour.  Lorenzo, 
too,  had  been  to  visit  him  sometimes,  but  there 
never  was  much  warmth  or  frank  cordialitv  be- 
tween  them.  Still,  each  respected  the  other,  and 
both  were  naturally  frank  of  disposition.  Lorenzo 
used  to  say  to  Morgan: 

"  I  am  not  myself  in  presence  of  that  Marchbank 
he  is  to  me  what  a  lump  of  ice  is  to  a  glass  of  cham- 
pagne ;  possibly  the  wine  may  be  all  the  more  pal- 


OLD  FRIENDS   AND   NEW. 


191 


atable  by  reason  of  the  ice,  biii  it  is  not  so  brisk 
and  sparkling.  I  try  to  like  him  immensely  for 
your  sake ;  but  our  nervous  systems  must  both  be 
charged  highly  with  the  same  kind  of  electricity ; 
hence  we  repel  each  other." 

Lorenzo  woula  say  this  with  a  light  laugh,  but 
he  would  often  j^onder  seriously  over  it.  lie  saw 
nothing  to  find  fault  with  in  tlie  manner  of  George 
Marchbank,  yet  he  had  no  sympathy  of  feeling  with 
him.  Who  can  adequately  explain  how  it  is  that 
naturally,  and  prior  to  all  familiar  acquaintance,  we 
are  attracted  and  pleased  by  some  persons  and  re- 
pelled by  others  ?  Our  will  is  of  course  left  free  to 
follow  or  not  this  attraction  or  repulsion;  still  we 
too  often  allow  our  will  to  be  led  in  these  cases  by 
our  feelings. 

"  Dreaming  of  fame,  George  ?"  said  Morgan,  as  he 
entered  the  studio  and  approached  his  friend. 

"Or  perhaps,"  took  up  Lorenzo,  "of  the  grand 
ideal  for  his  masterpiece." 

"Both  wrong,  my  friends,"  answered  George; 
"I  was  allowing  my  imagination  to  follow  up  to 
heaven  the  dying  echoes  of  the  music  from  the 
convent  chapel.  After  all,  what  is  our  life  here 
but  a  trembling  note  more  or  less  prolonged?  some 
are  low  and  subdued,  some  harsh  and  loud  ;  some  are 
light  and  joyful,  some  are  tearfully  sad.  Together 
they  float  for  a  brief  period  in  the  surrounding  at- 
mosphere ;  at  times  two  may  combine  in  perfect  liar- 
mony,  but  of  tener  a  jarring  discord  is  heard.  Some 
will  rise  and  float  on  alone  and  serenely  calm;  others 
alone  but  ever  troubled.    Finally  all  will  die  out — 


li 


f) 


'Ill  ■ 


192 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


J  'i 


I 


0 


"■■ 


illl 


I 


but  will  all  go  like  the  convent  mupic  before  God's 
throne?" 

"  Yes,  to  be  judged,"  said  Morgan  ;  "  and  happy 
the  one  whoso  life,  whether  long  or  short,  may  have 
been  such  as  to  obtain  a  favorable  sentence." 

"  Would  not  your  fancy,"  began  Lorenzo,  "  if 
expressed  on  canvas,  be  an  ideal  for  a  masterpiece  ? 
You  could  employ  every  shade  and  tint  to  express 
the  qualities  of  each  life,  or  musical  note ;  you  could 
have  groups  harmoniously  blending,  and  others 
great  by  reason  of  their  contrasts.  On  one  side 
would  be  softly  beaming  notes  in  monochrome,  de- 
noting the  virgin  souls  of  happy  celibates ;  on  the 
other,  ones  in  harsh  tints,  typical  of  uncongenial 
partners.  When  you  paint  it,  Mr.  Marchbank,  put 
Morgan  in  monochrome." 

"  And  you,  I  suppose,"  said  Morgan  with  a  quiet 
smile,  "  as  one  of  a  harmoniously  blended  group." 

"Not  at  all,  Morgan  ;  let  me  be  represented  as  a 
cynic  looking  upon  them  all  with  indifference.  If 
Mr.  Marchbank  could  only  catch  the  expression  of 
my  face  during  the  first  days  of  my  military  drill, 
particularly  at  the  moment  of  keeping  '  eyes  front,' 
its  startled  vacancy  would  exhibit  indifference  enough 
to  represent  the  prince  of  cynics." 

"  Oh  I"  said  George,  "  if  it  is  vacancy  of  look  or 
idiocy  of  expression  you  seek,  I  can  direct  you  to 
more  fruitful  sources  than  the  parade-ground.  Go 
into  certain  photographic  saloons ;  allow  the  operator 
to  give  you  what  he  imagines  to  be  an  artistic  posi- 
tion. Let  him,  unchecked,  twist  your  head,  turn 
your  neck,  elevate  one  shoulder^  bend  upwards  your 


•j^mrm 


OLD   FRFENDS   AND   NET7. 


193 


arms,  pull  together  your  fingers,  advance  one  foot, 
and  finally  cause  your  eyes  to  stare  into  vacancy  by 
clapping  you  on  the  crown  of  the  head  with  one 
liand,  and  squeezing  it  back  into  an  iron  bracket 
wliich  he  advances  with  the  other.  By  the  time  he 
lias  completed  all  these,  apparently,  necessary  tor- 
tures before  your  features  can  be  successfully  trans- 
ferred to  the  negative,  and  has  bidden  you  look  first 
here,  then  there,  believe  me  your  expression  wii!  l>c 
quite  vacant  enough ;  its  indifference  to  all  subluna  ry 
things  will  be  sublimely  perfect.  Then,  and  .  ot  till 
then,  are  some  operators  satisfied." 

"  You  have  conquered,"  laughed  Lorenzo ;  *'  i 
would  uuch  rather  have  a  tooth  extracted  on  the  old 
jaw-cracker  principle,  than  sit  for  my  photograph 
in  some  places  :  it  is  the  refinement  of  cruelty  they 
ficcm  to  study." 

With  such  airy  conversation  they  passed  an  hour 
or  two,  each  one  endeavoring  to  be  cheerful  and 
frank ;  but  Morgan  could  not  help  observing  that, 
notwithstanding  this,  there  seemed  to  be  chill  gusts 
of  air,  from  time  to  time,  hovering  round  them. 
Wlicn  about  to  depart  he  said : 

"  George,  we  shall  not  be  able  to  meet  for  the  fu- 
ture so  frequently ;  our  company  is  ordered  out  to 
the  hills  round  Albano.  Wc  will  depart  immediately 
after  the  29tli  June ;  we  shall  thus  be  present  at  the 
eighteenth  centenary  of  St.  Peter.  But  you  can 
come  out  to  see  us  in  our  quarters,  and  we  will  visit 
some  places  of  interest.  Lorenzo,  here,  ought  to  be 
a  safe  guide ;  he  knows  every  inch  of  that  ground." 

"  Yes,  Morgan,  yes ;  depend  upon  it  I  shall  go 


^1 


iii 


194 


AiTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


I 


out  to  see  you.  I  am  really  sorry  that  you  have  to 
quit  Rome ;  that  is,  I  am  sorry  for  my  ovn  sake.  I 
suppose  the  change,  at  this  season,  is  agreeable  to 
you.  I  shall  be  very  lonely,  but  my  art  will  help 
to  beguile  my  time.  A  family,  by  name  of  Drew, 
has  left  me  an  order." 

"  I  have  met  them,"  said  Morgan.  "Are  they  still 
jn  Rome  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  they  leave  soon.  The  younger  daugh- 
ter, I  hear,  is  about  to  be  mn.'ried  to  some  smart 
cicerone  who  passes  himself  off  as  a  reduced  noble- 
man.    He  is  to  form  one  of  the  family  group." 

"  I  wish  you  joy  of  your  first  order,  George  ;  we 
will  see  it  before  you  send  it  away.     Good-bye." 

After  the  departure  of  his  friends  George  March- 
bank  turned  towards  the  open  window  and  gave  way 
to  graceful  fancies.  He  designed,  in  his  mind,  many 
works  which  he  hoped  some  day  to  execute.  Chief 
amongst  these  was  a  Madonna  in  the  character  she 
received  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  from  her  dviii<; 
Son,  of  Mother  of  all  mankind.  "Woman,  behold 
thy  son,"  did  not  refer  exclusively  to  St.  John ;  he 
was  the  representative,  on  that  occasion,  of  our  race. 
George  Marchbank  loved  to  think  that  the  Madonna 
had  an  interest  in  all.  After  a  time  he  became 
aware  of  an  uncomfortable  feeling  of  uneasiness. 
Turning  round  he  saw  the  glitter  of  two  evil  eyes 
fixed  intently  on  him.  A  malicious  face  peered  in 
at  the  partly  open  door.  Startled  for  a  moment,  he 
reached  a  revolver  from  a  shelf,  and  covered  the 
eyes.     A  jerking  voice  now  began  : 

"  Put  down  your  weapon ;  if  I  had  wanted  to  hurt 


Vu 


I    )i 


OVER  THE  HILLS  ON  DONKEYS. 


195 


you  I  could  have  done  so  long  ago.  If  you  are  timid 
do  not  leave  your  door  open,  and  dream  at  the  win- 
dow." 

Half  ashamed  of  his  action,  George  Marchbank 
lowered  his  pistol,  and  asked  who  and  what  he  was. 
"  I  am  Capodiavolo ;  a  patriot,  a  citizen  of  the 
world.     You  are  a  Protestant,  and  must  hate  the 
government  of  the  Pope ;  so  do  I.     Soldiers  come  to 
visit  you.     Be  one  of  us,  and  learn  all  their  secrets." 
"  And  then  divulge  them  to  you  ?" 
"  Yes :  well  done  !  I  knew  you  would  do  it." 
"  Wretch,"  said  George,  greatly  excited,  "  if  you 
do  not  instantly  depart  I  may  be  tempted  to  quench, 
by  a  ball  from  this,  the  evil  light  of  your  eyes.     The 
government  of  this  city  which  affords  me  its  hospi- 
tality will  find  in  me  a  defender,  if  necessary.     I  am 
willing — "     But  seeing  that  his  intruder  had  van- 
ished, George  closed  the  door  and  window  for  the 
night. 


I  klanKM 


ir 


ed  in 
nt,  lie 
id  the 

T;o  hurt 


CHAPTER  XII. 

OVER   THE    HILLS   Oh    DONKEYS. 

For  a  number  of  years,  perhaps  for  centuries,  the 
donkey  has  been  held  to  be  an  expressive  type  of 
stupidity,  and  to  possess  less  imagination,  so  to  speak, 
than  any  other  animal.  Stump  orators  call  their 
opponents  by  the  opprobrious  title  of  donkey,  and 
fancy  that  their  annihilation  is  thus  completed ; 
wrangling  schoolboys  frequently  resort  to  a  use  of 


196 


AFTER  WEARY  TEARS. 


this  epithet  to  show  their  profound  contempt  for 
the  intellectual  capacity  of  their  rivals.  Editors 
hurl  it  against  each  other  from  their  indignant  pens, 
as  from  a  hydraulic  catapult ;  and  even  grim  mathe- 
maticians have  had  a  dim  perception  of  its  appro- 
priateness, since  they  have  named  one  of  the  propo- 
sitions of  Euclid  "Pot?-*  asinorum^^^  the  "Ass's 
bridge,"  on  account  of  dull  lads  finding  it  difficult 
of  mastery.  It  would  seem  from  this  that  mankind 
had  stamped  with  its  approval  the  conclusion  that 
the  donkey  is  the  embodiment  of  immitigated  d ill- 
ness. 

Now  it  may  appear  rash  to  come  forward  and  im- 
pugn the  soundness  of  this  great  verdict ;  but  the 
power  of  truth  is  mighty,  and  lessons  learned  by  ex- 
perience make  us  very  positive  in  our  assertions. 
The  donkey  has  been  cruelly,  persistently  calumni- 
ated. Few  are  aware  of  the  fund  of  latent  humor 
that  lies  hidden  beneath  his  long  ears;  few  arc 
aware  of  his  keen  perception  of  the. ridiculous,  or  of 
the  artful  tricks  to  which  he  will  resort  in  order  to 
bring  about  laughable  positions.  He  may  not  be 
possessed  of  a  refined  imagination,  but  he  has  an 
undoubted  genius  for  practical  jokes.  Unlike  many 
human  donkeys  who  laugh  loudly  at  their  own 
witticisms,  he  ever  remains  profoundly  unmoved  by 
his  lively  sallies.  In  order  to  be  known  he  must  ])e 
studied — studied  not  in  some  woe-begone,  degen- 
erate representative  that  droops  and  pines  in  a  city, 
but  in  the  brisk  mountain  one  that  brays  defiantly 
in  his  freedom,  or  that  submits  for  a  time  to  bit  and 
saddle  for  a  day  on  the  Alban  hills. 


OVER  THE  HILLS   ON  DONKEYS. 


197 


So  thought  Morgan  after  his  first  experience. 
His  company  had  been  sent  out  to  the  newly  formed 
encampment  on  wliat  is  popularly  known  as  "  Plan- 
nibal's  Plains."  These  are  an  extensive  stretch  of 
table-lands  on  the  Alban  hills ;  they  command  a 
view  of  the  Roman  Campagna,  and  overlook  Lake 
Albano  on  the  south  and  Tusculum  on  the  north. 
Tradition  has  it,  that  on  this  ground  Hannibal's 
army  lay  encamped  in  view  of  that  Rome  whose 
power  he  sought  to  crush.  As  a  position  easy  of 
defence  the  site  was  well  chosen,  but  between  him 
and  Rome  still  gaped  the  broken  and  cheerless  Cam- 
pagna. As  Hannibal  stood  on  tliese  plains  he  could 
see  the  glistening  of  the  flint  paving-stones  which 
marked  the  course  of  the  Appian  Way,  and  he  could 
watch  the  swift  chariots  which  dashed  madly  on  to 
the  proud  city ;  to-day,  a  modern  Hannibal  might 
gaze  upon  a  winding  trail  of  gleaming  steel  rails, 
over  which  the  exulting  engine  whirls  the  traveller 
from  Naples  to  the  Eternal  City.  At  the  southeast 
side  of  this  classic  spot  the  hollow  cone  of  Monte 
Ouvo,  formerly  ^' Mo7is  Latialisy"  shoots  rapidly 
upward.  Violent  volcanic  action  must  have  been  at 
work  in  these  parts  in  some  reuix^te  period  of  time. 
Monte  Cavo,  though  thickly  wooded,  is  only  a  shell 
of  earth  ;  dig  a  few  feet,  and  horror  of  horrors !  a 
gloomy,  unfathomable  ciiasm  gapes  beneath  you. 
The  plains,  too,  are  but  a  frail  bridge  of  earthy  mat- 
ter suspended  over  a  yawning  gulf.  If  you  jump 
or  run  violently  on  them,  the  ground  trembles  be- 
neath you,  and  a  hollow  rattle  not  overpleasing  to 
persons  of  a  nervous  temperament  is  heard. 


Mvmmm 

i  f 


198 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


The  Pontifical  Government  constructed  a  military 
camp  on  this  elevated  table-land,  thinking  that  the 
cool  air  of  the  mountains  might  be  beneficial  to  the 
soldiers  who  came  from  cold  climates.  It  was  now 
the  middle  of  July,  and  fiercely  the  sun  shed  his 
burning  rays  on  the  parched  ground.  At  times  a 
faint  breeze,  laden  with  the  freshness  of  the  hills, 
would  attempt  to  sport  over  the  plains,  but,  met  by 
a  column  of  hot  air  from  the  smoking  Campagna,  it 
would  quickly  retreat  to  its  mountain  source  pur- 
sued by  its  rival. 

Morgan  and  Lorenzo,  during  thu  first  days  of 
their  stay  at  this  encampment,  had  visited  the  home 
of  the  latter,  but  the  house  was  closed.  On  inquiry 
they  learned  that  Giovanni  Aldini,  the  father  of 
Lorenzo,  had  left  home  late  in  Mav.  He  went  no 
one  knew  whither,  but  gave  out  that  he  would  re- 
turn about  the  middle  of  July.  Lorenzo  was  sorely 
puzzled.  Whither  had  he  gone  ?  and  why  go  with- 
out informing  him  ?  Peppe  had  been  out  to  visit 
old  Aldini  late  in  May,  and  had  brought  kind  greet- 
ings to  Lorenzo,  but  said  nothing  about  any  intended 
departure.  Now  Lorenzo  felt  that,  whatever  the 
secret  was,  Peppe  must  know  it.  His  father  treated 
him  more  as  a  friend  than  as  a  servant,  and  looking 
back  at  many  half-forgotten  scenes  of  his  youth, 
he  fancied  he  could  detect  traces  of  an  understand- 
ing between  his  father  and  Peppe  on  something 
kept  from  his  own  knowledge.  What  was  it  ?  or 
was  it  only  fancy  ?  It  would  be  no  use  to  question 
Peppe.  Much  as  this  latter  loved  his  young  master 
he  would  not,  Lorenzo  felt  sure,  betray  any  confi- 


OVER  THE  HILLS   ON   DONKEYS. 


199 


if 


;?  or 


dence.  "Neither  ought  I,  nor  will  1  ask  him," 
thought  Lorenzo.  "They  both  love  me,  and  if  they 
really  have  any  secret  hidden  from  me,  it  is  not  my 
place  to  endeavor  to  pry  into  it." 

Contenting  himself  by  enjoining  on  Peppe  the 
duty  of  ascertaining  the  moment  of  his  father's  re- 
turn, Lorenzo  asked  him  if  he  knew  aught  of  the 
history  of  the  photograph  given  him  by  his  father. 
•'Examine  it,  Peppe,  and  try  to  recall  the  faces 
which  used  to  surround  me  in  childhood.  Have 
you  ever  seen  the  original  ?     Have  I  ?" 

Peppe  took  the  locket  with  an  air  of  affected 
indifference ;  he  gazed  earnestly  on  it,  then  on 
Lorenzo ;  next  he  scratched  his  head,  then  he  whis- 
tled softly ;  after  that  he  viewed  it  through  an  im- 
promptu opera-glass  formed  by  bringing  his  left 
hand  to  his  right  eye  and  encircling  it  with  his 
thumb  and  forefinger;  then  he  slapped  his  thigh 
with  his  right  hand,  and  said  : 

"  Che  bellina !  clie  bellina !  what  a  handsome  child  ! 
what  a  handsome  child !  If  she  should  grow  up, 
what  a  lovely  woman !" 

"  But  do  you  know  the  original  ?  Why  did  my 
father  tell  me  to  try  to  win  the  one  who  would  re- 
semble it?" 

"  Why  ?  Can  you  ask  ?  Look  at  that  picture ; 
it  speaks  for  itself." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  know  it  is  handsome,"  said  Lorenzo, 
half  fretfully ;  "  but  there  is  some  other  reason, 
Peppe,  and  you  know  what  it  is." 

"  I,  young  master  ?  Per  Bacco !  how  should  I 
know  the  motives  of  Giovanni  Aldini  ?    But  of  this 


200 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


be  sure,  that  if  ever  I  can  help  you  to  happiness  or 
fame  I  shall  willingly  do  it." 

Poor  Lorenzo  could  glean  nothing  from  Peppe ; 
but  he  was  more  than  ever  convinced  that  his  faith- 
ful servant  knew  more  about  the  picture  than  he 
cared  to  tell.  "  Never  mind ;  I  will  learn  it  yet," 
was  his  reflection,  as  he  put  by  the  locket.  .  .  . 

The  cool  breeze  of  evening  was  now  sporting  un- 
checked on  "  Hannibal's  Plains" ;  its  rival  luid  fol- 
lowed the  sun,  which,  an  hour  previously,  hud  died 
on  a  lield  crimsoned  with  its  own  imperial  rays. 
Timidly  the  stars  had  begun  to  peep  forth ;  first 
the  larger  ones  flush  out  from  their  gloomy  hid'  ig- 
places ;  then  the  smaller  ones,  as  if  encouraged  by 
their  big  brothers,  faintly  twinkle  far  olf  in  the 
azure  depths.  There  is  a  solemnity  about  niglit 
which  speaks  to  the  thoughtful  soul,  and  stirs  up 
noble  resolves.  It  may  be  true  that  thieves  prowl 
by  night,  and  flaunting  sirens  and  the  witching  cup 
offer  their  double  temptation  to  the  soul ;  but  niglit 
is  only  the  occasion,  not  the  cause  of  this.  It  is 
more  than  probable  that  the  thief  luid  his  plans  by 
day ;  the  heartless  ruffian  gloated  in  the  sunlight 
over  his  schemes  ;  but  both  waited  for  the  cover  of 
darkness  before  beginning  their  work.  On  the 
other  hand,  high  and  noble  resolutions  are  usually 
made  by  night;  the  soul,  at  such  a  time,  takes 
counsel  more  from  reason  than  from  the  passions. 
It  is  lifted  more  from  earth  ;  the  dazzle  and  splen- 
dor of  day  attract  and  charm  it;  but  the  gather- 
ing gloom  of  night  recalls  home  the  wandering 
thoughts.     By  night  Judith  prepared  herself  to  go 


OVEK  THE  HILLS   ON  DONKEYS. 


201 


fi 


forth  to  the  camp  of  the  terrible  Holofernes;  by 
night  Abraham  rescued  Lot  from  hid  captors ;  and 
by  night  many  other  great  purposes  were  formed. 

George  Marchbank  had  arrived  from  Rome  on  a 
visit  to  the  encampment  on  "  Hannibal's  Plains" ; 
ho  and  Morgan  were  now  conversing.  It  was  their 
intention  to  go,  together  with  several  others,  on  the 
following  morning  before  daybreak,  to  the  top  of 
Monte  Cavo  to  see  the  rising  of  the  sun.  All 
necessary  arrangements  had  been  made,  and  in  a 
short  time  they  were  to  lie  down  for  a  few  hours' 
sleep. 

"Have  you  seen  anything  of  the  Drew  family 
lately  ?"  asked  Morgan. 

"  Oh !  I  see  some  of  them  every  day ;  they  come 
to  give  me  'sittings'  for  the  family  picture.  The 
younger  daughter  and  the  '  reduced  nobleman'  are 
married.  Mr.  Drew  scarcely  credits  his  story,  but 
tlie  rest  swear  by  it.  The  fellow  is  cunning  and 
good-looking,  and  will  succeed,  I  dare  say,  in  keep- 
ins:  the  truth  from  them.  Once  in  the  United  States 
lie  will  be  equal  to  a  captured  Bengal  tiger  in  point 
of  importance." 

"The  ^reduced  nobleman's'  wife  must  pick  up 
Italian  now ;  she  used  to  be  strong  on  German,  and 
the  elder  one  on  French." 

"  Yes,  and  Washy  on  cigars,"  added  George  ; 
"  but  let  us  seek  our  quarters  for  the  night." 

A  couple  of  hours  before  dawn  Peppe,  who  added 

to  his  many  accomplishments  the   useful   one  of 

being  able  to  awake  at  any  stated  time,  went  round 

and  disturbed,  by  a  gentle  shake,  the  dreams  of 

9* 


202 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


Lorenzo,  George  Marchbank,  Morgan,  and  a  few 
others  who  were  to  compose  the  party.  In  a  camp- 
kettle  Peppe  prepared  a  gallon  or  two  of  coflFee, — 
then  he  ran  off  to  a  neighboring  crag  on  which 
goats  used  to  sleep,  and  came  back  with  a  foaming 
can  of  milk.  The  party  made  a  hasty  breakfast, 
and  set  out  to  walk  to  the  top  of  Monte  Cavo. 
They  were  to  descend  shortly  after  sunrise,  and 
Peppe  was  to  have  a  drove  of  donkeys  in  waiting, 
on  which  they  proposed  to  have  a  pleasant  ride 
round  the  lake  to  Albano ;  then  back  by  the  main 
road  towards  Marino,  and  up  by  "  Rocca  di  Papa" 
to  their  encampment.  The  programme  was  a  very 
easy  one  to  write  out,  but,  like  many  another  one, 
owing  to  some  of  the  means  for  putting  it  into  ex- 
ecution it  became  tiresome  before  night. 

A  smart  walk  of  less  than  an  hour  brought  them  to 
the  summit  of  the  mountain.  Their  way  had  been 
along  a  winding  road  beautifully  shaded,  and  iu 
part  paved  with  the  broad,  flat,  dark-gray  stones 
which  speak  of  the  Roman  Republic.  In  former 
times  a  temple  of  Jupiter  stood  on  this  lofty  peak ; 
a  paved  road  led  up  to  it,  but  now  a  monastery  of 
Passionist  Fathers  stands  in  its  place,  and  the  Cross 
of  Christ  gleams  hopefully  heavenward  where  for- 
merly the  thunderbolts  of  an  imaginary  deity  shone 
dark  and  terrible. 

All  took  up  their  position  on  the  eastern  iside  of 
the  convent  walls ;  a  few  remarks  were  made  in  a 
subdued  tone,  but  soon  silence  fell  over  all.  A 
faint  glow,  like  the  deathly  hue  of  a  fair  brow  en- 
circled by  a  night  of  hair,  and  scarcely  larger,  was 


1i 


OVER  THE   HILL8   ON    DONKEYS. 


203 


the  first  sign  of  advancing  day.  It  increased  in 
size,  and  grew  warmer  in  tint ;  soon  streaks  of  pale 
gold,  tipped  with  silver,  shot  out  like  rays  of  glory 
from  the  ever-increasing  brow.  Up  the  horizon 
they  danced,  spreading  out  on  each  side  as  the  fore- 
head of  light  expanded.  A  gap  between  two  dis- 
tant mountain  peaks  formed  a  kind  of  natural  tele- 
scope through  which  the  lovely  dawn  could  be  seen 
in  its  splendor.  Silently,  and  with  bated  breath,  the 
party  watched  the  darting  upwards  of  the  golden 
streaks,  the  expansion  of  the  pale  glow,  and  the 
purple  hue  that  now  came  over  the  verge  of  the 
horizon.  The  beauteous  edge  of  Day  gracefully 
protruded  itself  over  the  robe  of  Night ;  the  streaks 
shot  up  higher  and  wider;  the  pale  glow  rapidly 
spread  over  the  eastern  heavens  ;  the  purple  hue  rose 
upwards,  and  a  bright  gold  came  into  sight.  Now  it 
flushed,  and  the  streaks  died  out;  now  its  flush 
deepened,  and  the  pale  glow  disappeared ;  now  a 
dazzling  brilliancy  came  over  it,  and  the  purple 
vanished.  The  shades  of  night,  the  cold  gray  of 
dawn,  the  warm  purple  of  the  aurora  are  all  bathed 
in  this  sea  of  brilliant  light,  out  of  which  slowly 
and  majestically  the  great  Day-king  arises.  Now 
the  party  breathed  more  freely,  but  the  magnificent 
sight  was  not  yet  complete.  Lorenzo  motioned 
them  to  follow  him  towards  the  southern  corner  of 
the  monastery.  The  rays  of  light,  intercepted  by 
the  chain  of  hills  behind  which  the  sun  had  risen, 
had  not  yet  fallen  on  the  Campagna  that  lay  be- 
tween Monte  Cavo  and  Rome.  It  was  still  night 
beneath  them.     A  thick  mist,  of  a  pure  white  color, 


;f««l!iS« 

Monmm 

(.  J 

r> 

204 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


I      :^ 


hung  heavily  over  the  Campagna  and  enveloped  the 
city  beyond.  But  soon  the  flashes  of  sunlight  from 
behind  the  hills  were  reflected  on  this  mist,  and 
warmed  its  pale  coloring.  Soon  the  sun,  peeping 
over  the  mountain  range,  shot  a  beam  of  his  glory 
straight  over  the  mist,  and  over  the  walls  of  Kome, 
to  kiss  the  cross  on  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's;  it  was 
Day's  first  act  of  devotion  to  its  Creator.  Other 
beams  soon  followed  and  lit  up  the  dome,  which  now 
glowed  in  the  sunlight,  while  all  around  and  beneath 
was  cold  and  dark.  Higher  mounted  the  sun,  and  its 
rays  fell  on  the  valley,  dissipating  the  mist,  whicli 
fled  towards  the  west ;  higher  still  mounted  the 
sun,  and  its  rays  chased  the  mist  over  the  Cam- 
pagna, like  a  bright  golden  wave  pursuing  the 
scudding  foam ;  higher  still  mounted  the  sun,  and 
the  mist  was  swallowed  uj) ;  the  Campagna  was 
flooded  with  light ;  the  turrets,  towers,  and  houses 
of  Home  were  sparkling  in  the  morning  beams,  and 
the  glorious  spectacle  was  over. 

Just  then  the  bell  of  the  monastery  chapel  rang  out 
for  early  mass ;  silently  the  party  moved  towards  the 
church.  What  place  so  fitting  for  souls  so  moved 
and  overpowered  as  God's  House?  The  heavens 
had  narrated  in  glowing  language  His  greatness; 
they  would  adore  Him  in  the  place  of  the  habitation 
of  His  glory.  The  beauties  of  visible  creation,  if 
viewed  in  a  proper  spirit,  speak  eloquently  to  the 
human  soul  of  that  infinite  beauty  and  glory  hidden 
from  our  gaze  by  our  fleshly  veil. 

After  mass  they  walked  round  the  crest  of  the 
mountair.,  and  admired  the  grandeur  of  the  distant 


^9m 


m 


OVEK  THE   HILLS   ON   DONKEYS. 


205 


scenery.  Off  to  the  west  lay  Rome  reposing 
peacefully  on  its  historic  hills;  far  beyond,  and 
more  to  the  north,  stood  Soracte,  not  covered  with 
snow  as  when  described  by  Horace,  but  shining  in 
the  white  Italian  light  of  a  J^ily  sun.  Behind  it, 
tliuir  usual  frown  changed  to  a  ^niile  in  the  glad 
sunlight,  rose  the  towering  Alpf.,  a  fitting  back- 
•ijround,  in  point  of  grandeur,  for  the  Eternal  City. 
To  the  northeast  the  Sabine  Mountains  sprang  up 
from  the  valley  of  the  Tiber,  and  ran  east  by  south 
to  meet  the  Alban  hills,  on  which  the  party  stood. 
They  did  not  meet,  however;  a  broken  plain 
stretched  out  between  them.  At  the  base  of  Monte 
Cavo,  to  the  south,  quietly  nestling  in  their  shaded 
basins,  Lake  Albano  and  Lake  Nemi  glinted  and 
slept.  Not  a  curl,  not  a  ripple  on  their  waters* 
only  the  sunbeams  Hitting  over  their  surface  relieved 
the  calm  repose,  and  lighted  up  their  still  waters 
with  smiles  as  sweet  and  as  bright  as  those  of  an 
infant  dreaming  of  bliss.  A  belt  of  wooded  land 
divided  these  lovely  lakes  ;  here  were,  in  ages  past, 
the  sacred  groves  of  Ncmi,  and  the  home  of  the 
Sylvan  Nymphs.  Wherever  the  eye  turned  it  be- 
held a  pleasing  landscape,  and  places  renowned  in 
classic  story. 

"  Could  any  painter  transfer  to  canvas  the  beau- 
ties of  this  extended  scene,  what  a  fame  would  be 
his !"  said  Morgan. 

"Well  it  might  be,"  answered  George  March- 
bank;  "for  only  an  infinite  mind  could  coi.jeive, 
aud  an  infinite  power  execute,  this  glorious  design. 
To  successfully  paint  the  sunrise  we  witnessed  this 


lf«««tfa« 

lanMM 

i    } 

C^ 

206 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


«!J 


morning,  tho  artist,  apart  from  otlier  requisites, 
would  have  to  dip  his  brush  in  tlie  rainbow,  and 
gather  into  his  mortar  a  sunbeam,  tlie  ray  from  a 
topaz,  the  azure  from  the  firmament,  and  an  electric 
spark." 

"  You  are  right,  Mr.  Marchbank,"  began  Lorenzo ; 
"  but  it  seems  to  me  that  your  English  artists  arc 
too  realistic.  I  know  that  many  are  in  ecstasies 
over  the  works  of  this  school,  and  fancy  that  they 
have  succeeded  in  fixing  a  sunbeam  to  canvas. 
Their  works  are  neither  nature  nor  art.  A  copyist 
is  not  an  artist,  and  a  caricature  is  not  a  likeness. 
One  of  the  realistic  school  does  not  require  that  seal 
of  greatness — originality  of  genius;  he  is  only  a 
photographer  who  always  fails.  It  makes  a  cold 
chill  run  through  my  frame  every  time  I  enter  an 
art  gallery  in  London.  The  design  of  many  of  the 
works  is  excellent ;  the  drawing  exact ;  the  per- 
spective true.  But  then  the  filling-up !  The 
laughable  attempts  to  represent  the  brick  floor,  the 
various  tints  of  the  stones  composing  the  house,  and 
other  efforts  at  realism  make  them  appear  like 
boarding-school  exercises." 

"  Why,  Lorenzo,  you  are  severe  on  the  realistic 
school.  Ought  we  not  to  love  to  copy  nature?" 
said  Morgan. 

"If  you  CO  aid  copy  it,  well  and  good.  But  if  I 
want  to  view  the  beauties  of  nature,  I  will  not  shut 
myself  up  in  your  realistic  galleries ;  I  will  go  forth 
into  the  fields  and  mountains  as  we  have  done  to- 
day. There  I  can  see  nature  in  her  glory.  Do  not 
let  a  painter  make  himself  ridiculous  by  attempting 


^^jA 


"•^ 


OVER  THE   HILLS   ON   DONKEYS. 


207 


what  Ijo  cannot  perform,  But  even  if  lie  could 
paint  true  to  nature,  he  would  not  be  an  artist,  nor 
a  genius." 

"  That  sounds  a  little  strange,  Lorenzo." 

"  What !  you  to  say  that,  Morgan  !  Look  at  this 
landscape;  it  is  beautiful,  entrancing  in  its  peculiar 
loveliness,  but,  like  Hyron's  Greece, '  soul  is  wanting 
there.'  The  true  artist  is  to  take  some  outlines  of 
nature  and  to  give  them  aninuition  and  soul.  They 
arc  to  be  the  plastic  clay ;  but  his  genius,  his  ideal- 
ity, is  to  mo  '  L  them  into  speaking  forms.  To  chip 
a  block  of  marble  into  the  shape  of  some  model — to 
paint  the  outlines  of  a  certain  person's  face,  re- 
quires only  the  faculty  of  imitation,  not  art.  But  to 
design  some  model  which  in  its  general  characteristics 
sliall  be  true  to  nature,  but  which,  in  the  conception 
and  finish  of  its  ideal  beauty,  shall  rise  far  above  it, 
requires  genius — genius  such  as  Raphael,  Michel- 
Angelo,  or  Guido  possessed." 

"  Art,  then,  is  superior  to  nature  ?" 

"  You  know  that  God  did  not  create  things  as 
beautifully  as  He  could  have  created  them.  The 
intelligence  of  man  is  a  faint  reflection  of  the  In- 
finite. It  can  conceive  beautiful  ideas,  and  it  can 
produce  them ;  and  it  can  actuate  them  with  a  glow 
such  as  is  not  seen  on  this  landscape." 

"I  agree  in  great  part  with  you,"  said  George 
Marchbank ;  "  but  how  is  it  that  the  realistic  school 
is  growing  in  favor,  in  some  places  at  least  ?" 

"  The  question  is  easily  answered,"  replied  Lor- 
enzo. "  Materialism  in  philosophy  begets  material- 
ism in  art.     The  artist  may  not  be  a  materialist  in 


I 


I 


^ 


208 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


philosophy,  but  living  in  a  tainted  atmosphere  his 
mind  loses,  or  does  not  develop,  its  ideality.  Ma- 
terialism has  infected  not  only  art,  but  also  litera- 
ture. A  novelist,  instead  of  making  his  characters 
exercise  a  salutary  effect  on  his  readers,  either  by 
reason  of  their  exalted  virtues  and  well-regulated 
habits,  or  by  showing  the  vanity  of  life  without  God, 
too  often  dips  his  pen  in  the  slime  of  human  wicked- 
ness, and  portrays  unsightly,  though  perha])s  true, 
scenes.  It  is  not  well  to  teach  the  innocent  these 
lessons,  and  the  impious  already  know  them  too 
well.  The  writer,  if  he  be  a  true  artist,  will  depict 
persons  endowed  with  noble  qualities  and  virtues 
which  are  attainable  by  God's  help.  He  will  show 
how  a  soul,  aided  by  grace,  can  rise  superior  to  the 
petty  bickerings  of  the  world  and  the  base  passions 
which  seek  to  lower  us,  and  that  omy  the  truly  good 
are  truly  great.  His  work  will  be  a  beautiful,  but 
not  an  impossible,  ideal ;  it  will  cheer  on  the  inno- 
cent in  their  path  of  virtue  ;  it  will  abash  the  shame- 
less, and  it  will  hold  out  an  inducement  to  the  frail 
to  reform." 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  all  the  noble  enthusiasm  of 
Lorenzo's  nature  was  awakened  ;  his  eyes  glowed 
from  their  dreamy  depths,  and  his  whole  person 
was  agitated.  Morgan  and  his  companions  felt  the 
truth  of  his  renuirks.  His  assthetic  faculties  had 
been  developed  by  his  surroundings,  and  the  hideous 
caricature  of  realism,  whetlier  in  art  or  literature, 
provoked  his  generous  indignation.  He  did  not 
want  vain  romance  in  either,  neither  did  he  want 
fantastic  copies ;   he  wanted  an  ideal,  but  at  the 


^ppip""pi 


OVER  THE  HILLS  ON   DONKEYS. 


209 


same  time  a  possible,  beauty.  Who  can  gainsay  his 
iirijuments  ?  Art  is  not  to  tcacli  what  is :  it  is  to 
teach,  wliether  witli  pen  or  brush,  what  will  en- 
noble men's  minds,  not  that  which  will  please  their 
animal  propensities. 

The  party  of  friends  now  descended  the  moun- 
tain, and  found  Peppe  awaiting  them  with  a  drove 
of  donkeys.  It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock.  They 
proposed  dining  at  Albano,  and  sent  forward  a  mes- 
tfcnger  to  have  dinner,  or  lunch,  ready  at  twelve;  in 
the  mean  time  they  would  have  plenty  of  time  to 
pass  round  by  the  site  of  "  Alba  Longa,"  and  by  the 
borders  of  Lake  Nemi.  Every  one  was  in  high 
spirits,  and  predicted  a  day's  sport.  l*eppc  alone, 
and  the  old  drover  who  came  to  look  after  the  don- 
keys, appealed  to  have  their  doul^ts.  When  all  were 
safely  mounted  in  their  huge  saddles  the  word  "  For- 
ward "  was  given  by  Lorenzo,  who  was  the  guide  of 
the  party.  Now  "■  forward  "  is  not  a  ditlicult  word 
to  pronounce,  but  it  is  a  difficult  movement  to  exe- 
cute successfully  or  gracefully  when  mounted  on  a 
donkey  of  playful  })ro|)ensities.  8ome  stood  stock- 
still,  regardless  alike  of  blows  and  entreaties;  others 
sidled  up  against  the  thick  underwood  which  grew 
l)y  the  wayside ;  some  backed  at  a  furious  rate, 
which  led  their  unhappy  bestriders  to  think  that 
donkeys  must  be  a  species  of  Janus.  A  few  moved 
forward  at  a  quick  trot,  as  if  to  render  the  picture 
complete.  Meanwhile  Peppe  and  the  drover,  both 
heartily  laughing,  ran  hither  and  thither,  striking 
first  this  one,  pulling  that  one,  and  pushing  a  third. 
By  these  means,  after  a  good  half- hour,  all  were  set 


210 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


in  motion,  and  the  cavalcade  moved  merrily  on. 
The  late  annoyance  was  forgotten,  and  peals  of 
laughter  were  soon  resounding  on  all  sides.  But 
they  little  knew  the  resources  of  a  donkey.  Wliile 
going  at  a  brisk  trot  one  suddenly  stopped,  ducked 
his  long  ears,  and  his  erst  laughing  rider  lay  prone 
on  the  road.  This  appeared  to  be  the  signal  for  a 
renewal  of  asinine  humor.  Two  or  three  turned 
and  galloped  back ;  four  backed  up  against  an  over- 
hanging cliff  and  nearly  broke  the  legs  of  those  who 
rode  them  ;  one — the  one  that  carried  Peppe — kept 
straight  on ;  he  seemed  to  have  a  power  over  it  un- 
known to  the  others.  One  lay  down  and  rolled  in 
the  sand ;  the  rest  stood  still.  One  of  the  party, 
whose  beast  refused  to  move,  gave  it,  in  obedience 
to  Peppe's  direction,  a  stroke  on  the  ear;  instantly 
it  gave  an  unearthly  bray  and  plunged  wildly  into 
the  brushwood.  Crashing  it  went,  leaving  the 
others  to  speculate  on  its  probable  destination, 
and  the  fate  of  their  companion.  Would  he  be  a 
second  Mazeppa?  They  had  not  long  to  speculate ; 
bleeding  and  torn  their  companion  returned,  limping 
to  the  road,  just  as  the  donkey  came  in  sight,  trot- 
ting quietly  down  the  hill  at  some  distance.  Peppe 
mounted  the  runaway,  who  seemed  quite  unmoved 
by  his  piece  of  practical  humor,  and  the  wounded 
Zouave  took  Peppe's. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  tell  all  the  tactics  of 
these  much  vilified  animals :  sufhce  it  to  say  that 
every  one  of  them,  by  some  means  or  another,  suc- 
ceeded in  throwing  his  rider.  This  seemed  to  be  a 
point  of  honor  with  them,  a  sort  of  indignant  pro- 


^mm^Wi 


OVER  THE   HILLS   ON   DONKEYS 


211 


test  against  their  servitude.  Once  they  had  effected 
this  object  they  usually  went  pretty  well.  Peppe 
had  advised  the  party  from  the  start  to  quietly  al- 
low themselves  to  be  thrown,  and  that  then  they 
would  proceed  gaily.  But  he  was  only  laughed  at ; 
his  turn  to  laughj  however,  came  round. 

As  Lorenzo  and  Morgan  trotted  on  side  by  side 
the  former  said  : 

''  I  think,  Morgan,  that  your  modern  English 
poets  must  ride  a  great  deul  on  donkeys." 

"  Why  so  ?  I  do  not  think  that  many  in  England 
ever  ride  these  stupid,  stubborn  creatures." 

'"  I  thought  from  the  nature  of  their  metre  that 
they  must  have  had  its  rhythm  impressed  upon 
them  by  riding  on  these  animals.  In  any  case,  their 
verses  are  a  good  imitation  of  a  donkey's  pace  :  you 
have  a  spasmodic  start,  a  smooth  flow  for  a  moment, 
a  sudden  halt  that  causes  a  mental  overthrow,  a 
wild  plunge  through  the  bushes,  a  crash  against  a 
rock,  a  backing  away  ;  and  finally  the  reader  will  see  ' 
the  verses  running  on,  but  their  meaning,  if  mean- 
ing they  have,  will  be  as  far  beyond  his  reach  as  was 
poor  Marini's  donkey  when  he  limped  back  to  the 
road." 

"I  declare,  Lorenzo,  you  are  hard  on  our  poets. 
Have  they  no  merits  V 

"  Undoubtedly  they  have  some ;  but  they  have 
destroyed  the  grand  harinonious  metre  of  your 
classic  poets ;  they  have  sought  out  new  forms  of 
verse,  new  measures,  but  what  are  they?  An 
effeminate  tinkling  or  an  hysterical  muttering  takes 
the  place  of  Byron's  and  Moore's  sweet  harmonies, 


ipiiii««t    '-i: 


i  ^t 


if' 


(  ; 

! 


i 


I 


212 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


or  Pope's  melodious  numbers.  Yes,  the  donkey's 
pace  is  well  exemplified  in  many  modern  poems." 

"  You  are  partly  right,  Lorenzo :  our  modern 
writers  have,  in  a  great  measure,  abandoned  the 
classic  style,  and  I  cannot  say  that  they  have  im- 
proved on  their  predecessors." 

'•  Another  peculiarity,  Morgan,  that  goes  well 
with  the  idea  of  the  donkey  pace  is  tlie  use  of 
eithe)'  side  for  each  side,  or  hoth  sides.  How  can 
either  side  mean  both  sides,  except  in  tlie  sup])osi- 
tion  that  you  are  riding  a  donkey  ?  for  if  you  wish 
him  to  go  to  one  side  or  the  other,  he  will  surely  go 
to  both." 

Further  conversation  was  prevented  by  hearing 
shouts  from  behind ;  one  of  the  donkeys  refused  to 
move,  and  showed  siij-ns  of  an  intention  to  lie  down 
on  the  road.  Blows  were  of  no  avail.  Peppe  cried 
"  Build  a  lire  under  him" ;  and,  quickly  collecting 
an  armful  of  fagots  and  dry  leaves,  he  placed  them 
under  the  animal.  Striking  a  nuitch,  a  large  blaze 
soon  shot  up,  and  red  tongues  of  Hanie  licked  the 
donkey's  legs.  No  one  who  has  not  seen  this  simple 
cxpciriment  can  Imagine  its  effect  on  an  obstinate 
mule.  No  sooner  had  the  lanibent  blaze  gently 
encircled  its  legs,  than  tlie  donkey  sprang  forward 
at  a  rate  which  threatened  disaster.  Peppe  wat; 
hailed  as  an  inventor  of  a  new  locomotive  incentive, 
and  like  a  modest  genius  coolly  went  on  his  way,  ub 
\i  he  had  done  nothing  extraordinary. 

Between  all  their  mishaps  and  consequent  delays, 
it  waa»now  twelve  o'clock,  and  they  were  not  half 
way  to  Albano.     Owing  to  their  light  and  early 


HX'l  ' 


OVER  THE  HILLS   ON  DONKEYS. 


213 


breakfast,  they  were  hungry ;  and  the  gloomy 
thought  that  their  dinner  would  be  spoiled  ere  they 
reached  Albano  did  not  increase  their  merriment. 
For  a  time  they  made  good  progress,  but  wlien 
mounting  a  hill  one  of  the  donkeys  showed  positive 
symptoms  of  ailment,  and  would  not  advance.  The 
drover  earnestly  entreated  them  not  to  let  it  lie 
down  nor  to  stand  still,  otherwise  he  averred  it 
would  certainly  die.  His  evident  anxiety  moved 
the  excursionists ;  four  of  them  by  means  of  two 
poles,  and  assisted  by  the  drover,  who  tugged  at  the 
bridle,  bore  it  up  the  hill.*  This  was  the  culminat- 
ing point  of  disaster.  Lorenzo's  laugh  was  not 
very  merry  now ;  he  gave  expression  to  a  comical 
wish,  namely,  "  that  the  Society  for  the  Prevention 
of  Cruelty  to  Animals  might  be  forced  to  ride  in  a 
l)ody  over  the  hills  of  Albano  on  donkeys." 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  they  reached  Albano, 
hungry,  sore,  and  dispirited.  The  drover  was  told 
to  make  the  best  of  his  way  home  with  the  donkeys ; 
the  members  of  the  party  would  walk  back.  After 
:i  good  dinner  they  all  regained  their  usual  spirits, 
but  it  was  several  days  before  they  fully  recovered 
from  the  fatigue.  Each  one  of  them  made  an  in- 
ward promise  never  to  go  donkey-riding  again  ;  and 
some  of  them  began  an  investigation  of  the  nature 

*  The  author  was  one  of  four  who  actually  did  as  described 
;i])()ve.  Not  being  versed  in  the  pathology  of  donkeys,  we  after- 
wards suspected  that  the  drover  was  hoaxing  us;  but  quietly 
stoaling  back  some  time  after  to  the  level  ground  on  which 
we  had  landed  the  beast,  we  found  him  keeping  it  in  motion 
while  it  evinced  a  disposition  to  lie  down. 


i  -SftlKV 

^mnmm 

L  }) 

r"% 

214 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


i 


of  this  animal's  brains.  Whether  an  innate  stu- 
pidity or  a  canine  sagacity  was  the  cause  of  a 
donkey's  antics  remained  a  moot  point.  The  scien- 
tific reader  may  pursue  this  speculation  at  his  lei- 
sure. 


liiliit 


^   V. 


1 


't 


I! 


CHAPTER  XI IT. 


THE     CHOLERA. 


Fiercely  glared  the  August  sun  on  the  parched 
Campagna;  hotly  its  beams  fell  upon  the  glittering 
stones  of  the  Roman  streets ;  with  a  burning  breath 
its  rays,  reflected  from  tiled  roofs  and  zinc-covered 
domes,  fell  upon  the  faces  of  the  citizens.  The 
verdant  hue  of  nature  was  changed  to  a  shrivelled 
redness ;  scorching  winds,  laden  with  the  poison  of 
Africa's  deserts,  and  bearing  even  some  of  their 
sands,  came  in  fitful  gusts  across  the  plains,  blasting 
every  vestige  of  verdure.  This  wind,  called  in 
Rome  the  Sirocco,  is  the  aggravation  of  a  Roman 
summer.  It  suffocates  the  lungs;  it  parches  the 
skin  ;  it  closes  the  pores  and  prevents  perspiration. 
While  it  continues,  the  body  is  saturated  with  boil- 
ing water,  the  steam  of  which  cannot  escape,  but 
which  scalds  and  irritates  the  flesh.  Every  blast  is 
like  a  puff  from  a  glowing  furnace,  and  brings  a  new 
languor  to  the  already  languishing  body.  The  only 
resource  on  such  a  day  is  to  close  tightly  every 
window,  draw  closely  every  curtain,  and   sit  and 


m^m 


■X^if^ 


THE  CHOLERA, 

Bimmer  gently  in  the  dark ;  in  the  *»g^y  Jc^i^Wotitd''^ 
boil.  With  the  thermometer  at  105|*  for  a  week 
as  it  was  in  the  summer  of  18G7,  and  with  the  addi- 
tion of  this  scorching  wind,  it  is  not  much  wonder 
tliat  the  weary  artist  should  look  in  vain  for  a  cool- 
in  ij  retreat. 

Fiercely  glared  the  August  sun  ;  the  earth  was 
cracked  and  thirsty ;  the  sky  was  of  a  dismal  red. 
The  shrunken  Tiber  ran  spiritlessly  along  its  dusty 
bed :  it  showed  no  pride  in  winding  through  the 
Eternal  City  to-day  ;  it  was  only  intent  on  escaping 
Hi  quickly  as  possible  to  the  blr..  waters  of  Mediter- 
ranean. George  Marchbank  stood  on  that  part  of 
its  broken  banks  called  the  Rijpetta.  The  sapless 
trunks  of  the  rows  of  shrivelled  elms  which  grew 
on  that  spot  only  seemed  to  add  to  the  dreariness 
of  the  sunburnt  prospect. 

Fiercely  glared  the  mid-day  sun  on  this  broken 
bank,  which  served  as  a  quay  for  old-fashioned 
barges,  of  the  model  of  those  which  w^on  the 
AcLJum  engagement;  listlessly  they  lay  smoking 
in  the  intolerable  heat.  The  western  horizon  was 
shut  out  by  the  bleached  top  of  Monte  Mario ;  at 
its  foot  stretched  the  plain  on  which  the  legions  of 
Constantine,  headed  by  the  Cross,  won  the  victory 
over  the  pagan  tyrant.  Defeated,  he  sought  safety 
in  Hi^ht,  but,  falling  into  the  water  of  the  Tiber,  he 
was  quickly  borne  to  the  sea,  in  the  wake  of  Helio- 
gabaliis.  Perched  midway  up  Monte  Mario  stands 
the  crumbling  house  in  which  Rome  afforded  to  the 
banished  Stuarts  that  hospitality  which  England 
denied  to  its  king.     Not  far   off,   like  a   mighty 


;h 


i''' 


216 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


fi.  "« 


pyramid  enskied,  marking  tlie  tomb 'of  the  first 
Pope,  stood  that  triumph  of  art,  St.  Peter's  dome. 
Still  towering,  rose  Hadrian's  mammotli  mauso- 
leum ;  in  it  he  liad  fondly  hoped  that  his  ashes 
might  find  eternal  rest,  and  his  name  be  there 
revered.  But  ambition's  dream  was  rudely  de- 
ceived by  lapsing  years.  Around  about  the  an- 
cient spires,  bleached  in  the  mid-day  sun,  seemed 
like  a  withered  oaken  forest  whose  gnarled  trunks 
defy  alike  the  rays  of  light  and  the  effect  of  eating 
showers. 

Listlessly  did  George  Marchbank  gaze  on  this 
varied  scene ;  were  it  a  cool  day  in  April  he  would 
thoroughly  enjoy  the  grand  panorama  of  nature  and 
art,  but  now  he  only  thought  of  escaping  from  the 
intense  heat.  lie  resolved  to  leave  Rome  for  a  few 
days,  and  to  seek  a  cooler  abode  on  the  Alban  hills. 
Having  taken  this  resolution,  he  went  at  once  to 
catch  the  mid-day  train. 

In  the  mean  time  fiercely  glared  the  sun  on  the 
gray  tiles  of  the  Roman  College ;  hotly  it  beat 
down  on  the  steaming  courtyard.  In  the  large 
exhibition  hall  of  the  collesre  its  jxln^re  was  felt. 
though  its  rays  did  not  strike  in  directly.  A 
goodly  crowd  was  gathered  in  that  hall,  attending 
a  distribution  of  premiums  to  the  students.  Rome 
knows  how  to  foster  a  love  of  literature,  and  to 
reward  suitably  the  successful.  Science  is  not 
degraded  by  giving  a  money  prize ;  the  sordid 
faculties  of  our  nature  are  never  appealed  to;  an 
honorable  ambition  and  a  generous  rivalry  are 
alone  excited.     A  simple  medal,  of  little  intrinsic 


■^■1 


TIIK   CHOLERA. 


217 


value,  but  richly  ]irized  by  the  student,  is  tlie  guer- 
don for  successful  talent.  But  the  true  fostering 
of  lejiniing  in  Rome  consists  in  the  attendance,  at 
examinations,  of  learned  men  of  every  rank.  Car- 
dinals, prelates,  and  renowned  professors,  lay  and 
clerical,  will  attend  even  the  simplest  examination. 
Now  there  is  nothing,  after  a  strong  sense  of  duty, 
which  will  cause  a  boy  to  study  harder  than  an 
assurance  that  those  who,  to  his  youthful  imagina- 
tion, are  giants  in  knowledge,  take  an  interest  in 
his  studies,  and  will  be  present  to  witness  his  tri- 
uinj)hs.  Money  has  no  such  power  as  this  over  the 
young  mind. 

At  this  distribution,  then,  were  present  such  men 
us  Perrone  and  FraTiceslin,  the  leading  theologians 
of  Rome;  Secchi,  the  world-renowned  astronomer; 
Tortollini,  the  great  mathematician,  and  other  illus- 
trious persons.  Tliere  were  some  cardinals  present, 
and  among  them  one  whose  name  we  would  fain 
interweave  in  this  historic  sketch.  He  was  a  man 
of  modest  bearing,  but  with  that  air  of  courteous 
dignity  which  bespeaks  a  great  soul.  His  eye  was 
brown,  and  had  a  look  of  calm  repose,  in  which  a 
careful  observer  might  see  the  reflection  of  mighty 
purposes.  Of  a  brown  hue,  too,  was  his  well-carved 
cheek,  and  his  clear  forehead  was  set  in  a  frame  of 
brown  hair,  delicately  streaked  with  silver.  Small 
in  person,  he  was  imposing  rather  by  reason  of  the 
flashes  from  a  noble  soiil  within,  which  illumined 
his  pensive  features  with  a  light  half  sad,  lialf 
sweet,  than  from  a  commanding  presence.  Such 
was  Louis  Altieri,  Cardinal  Bishop  of  Albano, 
10 


ttnmm 


f 


i\ 


218 


AFTER    WEARY    YEARS. 


destined  soon  to  enter  the  heavenly  Jerusalem 
through  the  ruby  gate  of  heroic  cliarity. 

He  was  sprung  from  the  noble  Roman  family  of 
the  Prince  Altieri.  Early  educated  "a  virtue  and 
knowledge,  he  embraced  the  ecclesiastical  state,  and, 
after  having  fulfilled  various  offices  of  importance, 
had  been  raised  to  the  sublime  dignity  of  Cardinal, 
and  subsequently  was  made  Bishop  of  Albano. 
This  town  is  about  fifteen  miles  from  Kome,  on 
the  slope  of  the  Alban  hills,  and  is  reached  from 
the  latter  city  by  the  old  Appian  Way.  It  is  ii 
beautiful  little  town,  and  a  favorite  summer  resort 
for  tourists.  It  is  well  supplied  with  churches  and 
schools,  and  is  quite  prosperous.  By  a  dispensation 
of  the  Pope,  the  Cardinal  Bishop  resides  usually  in 
Rome,  his  vicars  administering  the  diocese. 

Cardinal  Altieri  sat  quietly  at  the  distribution, 
rendering  many  a  young  lad  happy  by  some  pleas- 
ing word  of  encouragement  as  he  handed  him  his 
hard-earned  medal.  An  unthinking  observer  might 
judge  him  better  suited  for  this,  than  for  the  stern 
duties  of  the  priestly  calling.  It  is  hard  for  those 
who  are  not  really  great  of  mind  to  understand  how 
the  truly  great  are  so  simple  and  unaffected.  A 
messenger  enters  in  haste  and  hands  a  letter  to  the 
Cardinal.  It  is  a  telegram,  and  its  contents  arc 
startling.  The  Cardinal  reads  it  quickly,  raises  Ins 
eyes  to  heaven,  and  softly  murmurs,  "The  good 
shepherd  lays  down  his  life  for  his  sheep."  He 
rises,  and,  turning  J;o  the  Rector  of  the  college, 
begs  to  be  excused  from  further  attendance.  Soon 
the  scared  whisper  circulates  that  the  cholera  has 


^PWiWiP 


TIIK   CHOLERA. 


219 


broken  out  in  Albano ;  the  people  are  dying ;  the 
living  are  fleeing  to  tlie  Avoods ;  confusion  prevails. 
It  was  but  too  true :  this  was  the  nature  of  the 
telegram.  Some  crowded  round  the  Cardinal,  and 
represented  to  him  that  there  were  plenty  of  priests 
in  Albano,  and  that  strictly  he  was  not  obliged  to 
go;  he  might  do  more  by  providing  for  them  from 
a  distance.  A  gleam  of  calm  determination  spark 
led  in  the  depths  of  his  liquid  eyes  as  he  answered : 

"  My  place  is  with  my  flock.  '  The  good  shep- 
herd lays  down  his  life  for  his  sheep.' " 

Noble  words,  in  sooth,  and  repeated  over  and 
over  again  by  the  priests  of  our  Holy  Church  as 
they  brave  cold,  sickness,  and  death,-  to  adminis- 
ter the  consolations  of  religion  to  their  people. 
Charity  lives  in  the  Church,  and  continually  pro- 
duces heroes. 

The  Cardinal  quickly  left  the  Exhibition  Hall ; 
his  face  was  almost  angelic  now  in  its  glow  of  lofty 
charity.  The  smiling  and  gracious  distributor  of 
premiums  of  a  few  moments  ago  was  transformed 
into  the  heroic  bishop,  going  forth  to  brave  the 
dreaded  epidemic  for  love  of  his  flock.  The  proud 
defiance  of  the  warrior  marching  on  to  battle 
beneath  the  eyes  of  his  sovereign  is  frequently 
extolled.  Far  be  it  from  us  to  try  to  dim  the  glory 
of  him  who  nobly  battles  in  a  just  cause ;  but  the 
path  to  fame  and  glory  which  the  martyr  of  charity 
has  to  tread  is  more  difficult.  The  companionship 
of  kindred  spirits,  the  "  pomp  and  circumstance"  of 
war,  its  excitement  and  noise,  all  conspire  to  animate 
the  spirit.     But  the  martyr   of  charity  goes  out 


i 


jllf 

III 


220 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


alone,  in  solemn  silence,  and  against  a  foe  who 
mocks  at  human  l)lo\v8.  No  wild  huzzas  and  fierce 
roaring  of  cannons  send  the  quick  blood  throbbing 
through  his  veins ;  alone,  with  God  for  his  comfort, 
he  marches  to  battle. 

What  wonder  that  the  step  of  Cardin;d  Alticri 
should  be  elastic  and  his  face  of  imposing  beauty^ 
Faith  lent  wings  to  his  feet ;  Hope  buoyed  up  his 
soul ;  Charity  set  her  impress  on  his  brow.  The 
bystanders  could  only  look  and  wonder;  afterwards 
they  could  reflect  that  they  had  seen  a  martyr  going 
to  receive  his  crown.  In  less  than  half  an  hour  the 
Cardinal,  having  procured  the  services  of  two  medi- 
cal men,  was  speeding  over  the  Appian  Way  to 
afflicted  Albano. 

In  the  mean  time,  how  fared  it  in  the  doomed 
city?  Terror  was  depicted  on  every  countenance; 
fear  and  trembling  shook  every  limb.  The  merci- 
less foe  was  upon  them,  and  they  saw  no  hope  of 
escape.  His  coming  had  been  strange  and  sudden. 
That  morning  health  ran  riot  through  the  city.  To- 
wards  noon  a  dark  cloud  cauie  up  from  the  sea;  it 
hung  lazily  in  mid-air,  a:i:l  at  length  seemed  to  burst 
over  Albano.  Immediately  the  cholera  broke  out. 
Persons  rejoicing  in  Iiealth  felt  an  acute  spasm ; 
violent  retchings  supervened,  suspended  animation, 
a  struggle,  a  collapse,  and  the  spirit  had  flown.  The 
awful  coming  of  the  disease,  its  dread  name,  and  the 
virulence  of  its  nature  as  soon  seen  by  all,  might 
well  stir  up  every  emotion  of  fear.  Houses  were 
abandoned ;  the  dead  in  many  cases  were  left  un- 


^«»"^ 


THE  OnOLERA. 


221 


might 


touched ;  confusion  and  fear  added  to  the  number 
of  victims.  Fear  weakens  tlie  system  and  renders 
it  more  liable  to  cod!  i act  any  epidemic. 

Hut  not  all  in  Albano  were  smitten  with  terror; 
noble  hearts  and  brave  souls  fronted  the  foe  and 
tried  to  f!^rap])le  with  him.  The  priests,  the  Sisters 
of  Charity,  the  soldiers,  and  some  citizens  stood  to 
their  posts,  and  tried  to  calm  the  unreasoning  and 
to  dispel  their  wild  fears.  But  in  the  first  moments 
of  terror  they  could  do  but  little.  To  fully  under- 
stand the  disorganizing  effect  of  such  a  panic  one 
iimst  have  witnessed  something  like  it.  Even  a 
well-disciplined  regiment,  inured  to  danger,  may 
suddenly  lose  its  presence  of  mind,  and  acting  under 
Some  impulse  give  way  to  a  wild  stampede. 

A  few  hours  of  terror  had  i)a8sed  over  the  city ; 
many  victims  had  been  cut  down.  Along  the  prin- 
cipal street  a  carriage  came  thundering  in  from  the 
gate,  and  the  panting  horses  were  brought  to  a  stand 
in  front  of  the  Cathedral.  Quickly  its  occupants 
alighted;  they  were  Cardinal  Altieri  and  his  atten- 
dants. The  great  bell  of  the  Cathedral  rang  out 
to  announce  to  the  stricken  flock  that  their  shei^herd 
luid  come.  The  sound  of  the  ))cll  brought  all  who 
remained  in  the  city,  and  who  could  move,  to  the 
church.  Many  a  careless  soul  now  thought  of  its 
God  and  came  to  seek  pardon.  The  sight  of  the 
Cardinal  Bishop  cheered  the  drooping  spirits  of  all ; 
his  holy  look  of  charity  gave  them  confidence.  He 
addressed  them  in  words  of  love  and  exhortation ; 
he  besought  tliein  to  be  calm  and  to  attend  to  the 
directions  of  the  physicians.    Above  all  he  conjured 


mm 


HMilll 


5> 


222 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


them  to  truly  repent  of  their  sins,  and  to  thus  dis- 
arm death  of  its  terrors.  Let  them  be  prepjj^-ed  to 
die  and  they  need  not  fear  the  cholera ;  it  was  only 
one  of  many  ways  which  lead  to  death.  Lastly,  and 
here  his  face  beamed  on  them  like  a  reflected  light 
from  heaven,  he  told  them  that  he  had  come  to  as- 
sist them,  to  attend  them,  to  remain  with  them  till 
the  end,  or  to  die  in  their  service. 

At  the  conclusion  of  his  noble  words  few  eyes 
were  dry,  and  no  heart  was  unmoved.  But  calm 
resolution  took  the  place  of  dismay,  and  courage 
was  born  in  many  a  breast.  The  generous  sentiments 
of  our  nature  are  often  like  grains  of  seed ;  they  are 
sowu  in  the  soil  of  our  affections,  but  amidst  the 
glare  of  a  thoughtless  life  they  are  seared,  or  remain 
unfruitful ;  when,  however,  some  fearful  social 
storm  upheaves  men's  hearts,  as  the  earthquake 
shakes  the  land,  the  brave  words  and  example  of 
some  lofty  spirit  fall  like  a  vivifying  shower  on  the 
startled  sentiments,  making  them  sprout  and  blos- 
som into  acls  of  heroism.  Thus  it  came  to  pass  in 
Albano :  where  a  short  time  previously  only  a  few 
were  brave,  now  only  a  few,  if  any,  were  cowards. 
"^Teasures  were  at  once  concerted  for  limiting,  as 
much  as  possible,  the  ravages  of  the  disease.  Medi- 
cal skill,  Christian  charity,  and  bravery  did  much ; 
order  and  quiet  prevailed.  Every  one  prepared  for 
death,  and  then  adopted  all  the  prescribed  precau- 
tions. There  was  one  class  of  persons  that  we  must 
not  forget — the  soldiers.  From  the  first  these  brave 
men  had  acted  with  coolness  and  resolution ;  now, 
animated  by  the  words  of  the  Cardinal,  they  became 


mm 


THE  CttOLEl^\. 


223 


the  instruments  of  doing  a  vast  amount  of  good, 
Tliere  were  gens-d'armes,  soldiers  of  the  line,  and 
Zouaves ;  all  did  their  duty,  and  we  only  wish  that 
we  could  give  their  names.  But  God  saw  their 
work,  and  their  reward  will  be  great  and  certain. 

Among  the  Zouaves  was  the  company  to  which 
Morgan  and  Lorenzo  belonged ;  it  had  been  called 
in  a  few  days  previously  to  relieve  another  one. 
Although  we  will  speak  particularly  of  the  Zouaves 
in  this  sad  chapter,  we  must  not  be  understood  to 
detract  from  the  merits  of  the  other  soldiers ;  our 
object  is  to  follow  the  fortunes  of  our  friends,  not  to 
write  a  full  account  of  the  days  of  Albano's  afflic- 
tion. 

Shortly  after  the  outbreak  of  the  cholera,  and  be- 
fore the  arrival  of  the  Cardinal,  Morgan  was  speed- 
ing along  on  some  mission  of  charity,  when  he  ran 
np  against  George  Marchbank,  who  had  just  arrived 
by  the  train  from  Rome.  Morgan  was  surprised 
and  grieved ;  he  drew  back  from  his  friend,  who 
was  advancing  smilingly,  and  with  a  look  of  dcop 
concern  said : 

"  You  here,  George !  When  or  how  did  you 
come  ?  Don't  approach  me,  but  go  away  as  quickly 
as  possible." 

"  Why,  Morgan,  how  is  this?  What  has  happened 
to  make  you  so  much  afraid  of  me  ?  I  left  Home 
two  hours  since  to  escape  its  intolerable  heat,  and  I 
hoped  for  a  better  welcome.  What  can  have  hap- 
pened?" 

"Nothing,  nothing  to  me,  George;  but  for 
heaven's  sake  return  at  once  to  Rome ;  do  not  pene- 


\i' 


^4: 


AFTER  WEAllY   YEARS. 


trate  further  into  the  town.  Be  advised  by  me  and 
flee." 

"  I  have  done  nothing,  Morgan,  to  make  me  fear 
the  good  people  of  Albano ;  tell  me  why  you  ask  me 
to  go,  and  why  you  stand  aloof." 

"  The  cholera  has  just  broken  out ;  it  is  of  a  most 
virulent  nature ;  its  ravages  are  fearful.  I  have  just 
come  from  carrying  a  body  to  the  vault.  You  know 
why  now ;  I  must  go,  but  as  you  love  me  leave  the 
town  at  once." 

"  And  you,  Morgan,  will  you  come  with  me  ?" 

"  I  ?  no ;  my  duty  calls  me  to  the  assistance  of 
the  afflicted.  My  life  is  in  the  hands  of  God.  I 
will  be  of  service  as  long  as  I  can,  and  if  the  Al- 
mighty demands  the  sacrifice  of  my  life,  bear  to  my 
parents  and  Eleanor  the  assurance  that  I  died  doing 
my  duty,  and  that  I  blessed  them  for  all  their  love." 

George  Marchbank  was  no  coward  either  physi- 
cally or  morally ;  yet  he  had  no  wish  to  expose  him- 
self to  unnecessary  danger.  The  words  of  Morgan 
might  well  make  a  stranger  shudder.  Morgan  was 
moving  off,  when  George  with  a  sudden  movement 
came  up  to  his  side,  and  seizing  his  hand  exclaimed : 

"Morgan,  I  will  not  go;  but  as  I  love  you  I  shall 
stay.  Perhaps  Providence  brought  me  specially 
here  to-day ;  I  had  no  thought  of  coming  yntil  two 
liours  ago.  If  you  should  take  the  disease,  who 
rather  than  I  should  perform  for  you  the  sad  offices 
of  a  friend  ?  I  know  you  would  say  that  I  may  be 
carried  off.  I  may ;  but  I  hear  an  inward  voice 
telling  me  to  remain.  I  will  obey  it.  Let  me  go 
with  you  and  be  of  some  service." 


I 


.^  •  " ;  ,>3Wn, 


THE  CHOLERA. 


225 


What  could  Morgan  do  ?  Was  it  for  him  to  en- 
deavor, by  the  cold  arguments  of  worldly  prudence, 
to  dissuade  his  friend  from  doing  that  to  which, 
perhaps,  God  was  inviting  him?  The  true  Chris- 
tian spirit  of  Morgan  did  not  require  time  to  decide 
this  point.  Telling  George  to  recommend  himself 
sincerely  to  Heaven,  they  started  off  on  their  mis- 
sion of  love.  They  went  to  the  cathedral  when  the 
bell  rang  to  summon  the  people  to  meet  the  Cardi- 
nal. George  heard  with  admiration  the  noble  words 
of*  this  true  pastor  of  souls,  and  inwardly  compared 
his  action  with  that  of  the  hireling.  He  felt  that 
the  priesthood  which  indued  men  with  such  moral 
courage  and  devotion  must  be  Divine  in  its  origin 
and  wonderful  in  its  graces.  He  began  to  under- 
stand the  secret  of  the  love  and  veneration  of  Cath- 
olics for  their  priests,  and  to  share  their  reverence. 

For  three  days  the  pale  Death-king  stalked  defi- 
antly through  Albano's  fair  streets,  and  held  high 
carnival  in  her  by-ways.  For  three  days  the  invisi- 
ble scythe  mowed  ceaselessly  fair  flowers  and  with- 
ered grass.  For  three  days  Albano  seemed  trans- 
formed into  a  charnel  vault  visited  by  a  few  friends 
of  the  departed.  Out  from  the  town  a  new  ceme- 
tery had  been  opened  in  which  soldiers  were  con- 
stantly at  work  digging  graves;  and  constantly  a 
stream  of  conveyances  was  arriving  bearing  a  sad 
load  of  dead.  The  monotonous  rumble  of  the  dead- 
cart,  by  night  and  day,  was  the  only  sound  that  was 
beard  in  the  streets.  So  completely  was  the  reign 
of  death  established  that  no  rebellious  wails  arose 
from  the  survivors;  a  smothered  groan,  a  piteous 
10* 


lli» 


H 
0 

«(•-  •P^ 


226 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


1 


I 


i; 


i 


cry  to  Heaven  for  mercy  was  all  that  escaped  from 
the  lips  of  the  people.  Here  a  once  happy  but 
now  terrified  family  are  gathered ;  the  idol  of  tlie 
domestic  hearth  is  suddenly  seized  with  a  spasm; 
the  hapless  mother  raises  her  struggling  darling,  but 
in  the  very  act  is  stricken  with  more  alarming  symp- 
toms. The  angel  of  Death  flutters  tor  a  moment  in 
the  room,  strikes  down  the  mother,  tips  with  pass- 
ing wing  the  daughter,  and  breathes  the  cold  breath 
of  the  tomb  on  the  brow  of  the  eldest  son.  Thus 
within  an  hour  three  victims  fall ;  three  links  are 
cut  off  from  the  family  circle.  The  surviving  mem- 
bers are  stupefied ;  each  one  is  expecting  the  dread 
summons.  What  but  speechless  desolation  and 
grief-dried  eyes  can  express  such  woe  as  this? 

Here,  again,  are  friends  and  relations;  the  epi- 
demic enters  the  room  and  claims  its  victim.  Ter- 
rified at  the  sight  of  the  fearful  retchings  and 
spasms  of  the  sufferer,  the  friends  lose  presence  of 
mind  and,  forgetful  of  their  generous  resolution,  run 
from  the  house.  The  dying  person  is  left  in  all  the 
horrors  of  death,  uncheered  by  a  friendly  voice,  un- 
sustained  by  a  loving  look.  Alone, — alone  with  his 
or  her  conscience,  the  tide  of  life  ebbs*  quickly 
away,  bearing  the  freed  soul  to  the  Judgment 
Seat. 

But  during  all  those  three  days  of  death  and  deso- 
lation, where  the  Death-king  rode  the  most  defiantly, 
— where  the  noiseless  scythe  cut  down  the  most 
flowers  and  grass — where  the  charnel  vault  was 
most  foetid — where  misery  and  loneliness  suffered 
the  most  acutely,  one  figure  moved  by  day  and 


ym^^^m^ 


THE  CHOLERA. 


227 


night.  With  undaunted  step,  with  beaming  counte- 
nance tlie  Christian  Bishop  moved  among  his  dying 
flock.  He  entered  the  bereaved  home  and  his  pres 
once  was  like  an  air  from  Heaven ;  sorrow  was 
transformed  into  heavenly  hope.  He  entered  the 
room  where  the  abandoned  sufferer  was  struggling 
with  death,  alone  and  unaided,  and  his  angelic  face 
appeared  like  that  of  a  celestial  messenger.  He 
could  not  stay  the  victorious  march  of  the  pale  king, 
but  he  could  charm  his  terrors  and  rob  him  of  his 
sting.  He  breathed  words  of  burning  zeal  and  con- 
fidence into  the  ears  of  the  dying  ;  he  administered 
the  last  rites  of  religion  to  hundreds ;  he  gave  sooth- 
ing draughts  to  the  suffering.  God  had  afflicted 
sorely  the  people  of  Albano,  but  in  his  mercy  he  sent 
them  a  treasure  of  great  price.  Men  rave  about 
the  bravery  of  the  warrior ;  but  who  will  dare  com- 
pare the  man  who  is  sent  perhaps  to  slaughter,  or 
who  goes  in  the  mad  excitement  of  roaring  cannon, 
rattling  drums,  and  prancing  steeds  to  battle,  with 
the  hero  who  coolly,  deliberately,  and  with  mature 
reflection  faces  death,  in  a  most  terrible  form,  every 
minute  for  three  weary  days  and  nights!  The 
soldier  is  often  a  mere  machine ;  Altieri  was  a  free 
agent,  aware  of  the  danger,  but  a  man  who,  through 
a  strong  sense  of  duty  and  Christian  charity,  tri- 
umphed over  the  fears  of  nature. 

For  three  days  he  moved  around,  and  none 
watched  him  more  keenly  than  George  Marchbank ; 
he  was  fascinated  by  his  manner,  and  revered  his 
character.  But  now  his  figure  no  longer  moves 
through  the  streets  of  Albano ;  his  voice  no  longer 


I'll  i«  mm 


328 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


Ml 


cheers  the  dying.  No :  his  earthly  course  is  nearly 
run ;  his  eternal  recompense  is  at  hand.  The  Cardi- 
nal is  dying — dying  of  the  dreaded  cholera.  At 
length  the  Death-king  has  turned  to  grapple  with 
him  who  charmed  his  terrore  and  robbed  him  of 
his  sting.  Sad  are  the  hearts  of  those  who  stand 
round  his  couch ;  Morgan  and  George  Marchbank 
are  present.  But  he  who  sweetened  the  bitter 
chnlice  for  others  has  it  now  sweetened  for  himself 
by  an^  b"  '  ids.  Calmly  he  awaits  the  last  strug- 
gle, so  calmly  that  hopes  are  entertained  that  he 
may,  lAzc  pome  others,  survive.  It  may  have  been 
his  exhaustion  from  overwork — it  may  have  heen 
that  God  wished  to  reward  his  faithful  servant — it 
may  have  been  that  the  souls  of  those  whom  he  had 
helped  to  enter  Heaven  besought  the  Lord  to  crown 
his  brow  with  the  martyr's  wreath.  However  it 
was  brought  about,  the  hour  of  his  dissolution  was 
come.  He  knew  it,  and  serenely  shook  his  head 
while  those  around  him  spoke  of  his  chances  of  re- 
covering. Like  the  reaner  who  has  gatliercd  his 
last  sheaf  and  rejoices  af,  he  views  his  granary  teem- 
ing with  the  golden  corn,  so  Altieri  rejoices  that  his 
WQd^y  pilgrimage  is  ended,  and  that  his  lofty  mission 
has  been  nobly  fulfilled.  One  favor  he  asked  of 
God :  it  was  not  life  for  himself,  but  that  his 
might  be  the  last  death  from  cholera  in  grieving 
Albano. 

He  had  noticed  George  Marclibunk's  generous 
efforts  in  the  cause  of  humanitv  .*  he  had  also  learned 
something  of  his  history.  Turning  now  towards 
iiim,  he  said:  . ,  ,  = 


^fi^i^mifm 


THF   OHOLERA. 


229 


"  I  stand  on  the  brink  of  Eternity ;  a  few  mo- 
ments more  and  I  close  my  eyes  on  all  the  vanities 
and  allurements  of  life.  Viewing  life  by  the  pale 
light  of  death,  I  see  more  clearly  than  ever  the 
great  truth,  *  What  shall  it  profit  a  man  to  gain  the 
whole  world,  if  he  lose  his  own  soul  ? '  Ah !  my 
son,  keep  the  words  well  in  mind  ;  a  struggle  awaits 
you  ere  you  reach  the  truth  ;  out  be  true  to  God's 
graces.  Pray,  pray,  pray,  and  let  your  prayer  be 
for  light  and  grace.  If  you  do,  the  precious  gift  of 
Faith  will  be  given  you,  and  your  soul  will  enjoy 
peace." 

Asking  then  to  receive  the  last  Sacraments  of  the 
Church,  all  knelt  and  prayed.  When  he  had  thus 
been  fortified  by  those  spiritual  aids,  he  remained  a 
few  moments  wrapped  in  silent  prayer.  Then  he  said, 
"  I  believe  in  One  Holy,  Catholic,  and  Apostolic 
Church,  the  only  Church  of  Christ."  He  ceased  ;  a 
smile  sweeter  and  more  pure  than  a  sunbeam  on 
Avoca's  beauteous  waters  lit  up  his  countenance, 
and  ere  its  light  and  beauty  had  died  out  the  great 
soul  of  Louis  Altieri  was  in  the  bosom  of  its  God. 
Calmly  fell  the  sunlight  on  the  still  features  of  the 
true  Bishop ;  he  had  given  his  life  for  his  sheep. 
Who  hath  greater  charity  than  this  ? 

Around  his  bed  and  over  his  tomb  let  no  tear  of 
regret  be  shed ;  let  not  affection's  rain  defile  the 
ashes  of  the  martyr,  nor  water  the  sod  that  covers 
his  dust.  Let  only  the  voice  of  praise,  the  "  Te 
Deum"  of  thanksgiving,  be  heard  round  his  bier. 
He  knew  how  to  live,  and  how  to  die:  this  is  a 
knowledge  worth  more  than  all  other  sciences,  for 


llllilJRai'  .V) 


mi** 


> 

s 


i 

......  ^fi^/"i 

230 


AFTEK  WEARY    YEARS. 


1 


it  is  the  only  one  which  leads  to  the  source  of  all 
Wisdom — God  our  Creator. 

Reverently  they  bore  the  body  of  the  martyr  to 
its  last  resting-place ;  it  sleeps  in  the  midst  of  those 
to  whom  he  ministered.  His  place  is  truly  with  his 
flock :  he  made  it  so  in  life,  and  it  is  now  so  in 
death.  Like  a  captain  walking  proudly  at  the  head 
of  his  company  when  summoned  by  his  sovereign, 
will  Altieri  come  forth  from  the  sepulchre  leading 
his  well-loved  flock  when  the  dread  notes  of  tlie 
Angel's  trumpet  shall  resound  through  the  hollow 
regions  of  the  tomb. 

The  cemetery  in  which  the  victims  of  the  cholera 
were  interred  has  been  closed  and  surrounded  by  a 
high  wall.  It  is  not  •  spot  of  terror,  for  the  story 
of  the  Cardinal  Bishop's  glorious  end  casts  a  halo 
around  its  precincts. 

The  Zouaves  only  lost  one  man  by  the  cholera ; 
the  other  divisions  of  the  military  suffered  very 
slightly  also.  Peppe  was  most  constant  in  his  min- 
istrations to  the  sick ;  his  natural  buoyancy  of  tem- 
per helped  him  wonderfully.  Lorenzo  and  Morgan 
were  present  everywhere,  but  this  is  a  praise  which 
is  due  to  all  the  military.  The  Pope  had  a  gold 
medal  struck  and  presented  to  the  heroes  of  the 
cholera  days.  It  was  worn  more  proudly  and  re- 
ceived from  intelligent  men  more  homage  than  all 
the  medals  ever  conferred  for  bravery  on  the  field 
of  battle. 

The  words  of  the  dying  Cardinal  made  a  deep  im- 
pression on  George  Marchbank ;  his  last  smile  was 
ever  beaming  on  him.    He  had  seen  a  true  priest 


GATHERING   STORMS. 


231 


working  and  dying ;  lie  felt  that  only  a  Divinely  re- 
vealed religion  could  have  sncli  a  minister.  He 
ceased  to  be  a  Protestant,  but  as  yet  he  was  not  a 
Catholic;  the  gift  of  Faith  had  not  been  received. 
The  foretold  struggle  was  upon  him,  and  he  prayed 
— prayed  for  light  and  grace. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 


GATHERING    STORMS. 

The  glowing  month  of  October  had  again  come 
ronnd ;  the  grapes  were  almost  ready  to  be  plucked 
on  the  slopes  of  Lake  All)ano  ;  the  rich  clusters  of 
figs  were  being  culled,  and  on  every  side  might  be 
heard  the  glad  voices  of  vine-dressers  as  they  gar- 
nered their  luscious  harvest.  From  neighboring 
hill-tops  the  busy  workmen  sang  alternately  the 
"  Ave  Maris  Stella"  or  the  more  solemn  strains  of 
the  "  Kyrie  Eleison,"  and  files  of  laden  donkeys 
slowly  wended  their  way  from  the  fields  to  the  little 
villages  which  crowned  the  higher  hills.  The  hor- 
ror of  the  days  of  cholera  was  almost  forgotten  in 
and  around  Albano ;  sadness  has  no  enduring  home 
in  the  hearts  of  the  Italians.  A  glorious  sunshine 
from  day  to  day  puts  to  flight  the  dark  humors 
which  curdle  around  the  heart  in  colder  climes,  and 
a  firm  faith  cheers  the  spirit  v/ith  thoughts  of  future 
bliss.  Only  the  noble  devotion  of  the  dead  Cardi- 
nal, and  of  the  others  who  had  done  theii'  duty, 


mm 


,i»«. 


rii 


232 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


»'ji 


1 


was  spoken  of  in  connection  with  the  cholera.  Sad 
memories  were  buried  in  the  graves  of*  the  loved 
dead  ;  only  the  bejiuty  and  heroism  of  soul  exhibited 
by  the  brave  lived  and  glowed  in  the  glad  sunliglit. 
This  is  as  it  should  be ;  this  is  the  characteristic  of 
a  people  in  whom  Catholic  traditions  are  strong. 
The  mere  animal  man  may  bemoan  through  dreary 
years  his  losses;  he  mourns  without  hope,  conse- 
quently his  grief  is  unsoftened :  but  the  true  Christ- 
ian never  looks  upon  the  dead  as  lost  to  him ;  they 
are  enshrined  in  his  memory  and  embalmed  in  the 
hope  of  a  happy  reunion  in  a  near  hereafter.  Thus 
tranquillity  reigned  around  Albano's  peaceful  lake. 
But  in  the  North  the  low  growling  of  a  gathering 
storm  was  faintly  heard.  It  was  not  the  disturbed 
forces  of  nature  which  were  in  agitation,  but  tlie 
restless  minds  of  impious  plotters.  The  Revolu- 
tionists had  vainly  hoped  that  after  the  departure 
of  the  French  troops  from  Rome  the  people  would 
rise  up  in  revolt.  They  little  knew  the  loyalty  of 
the  Pope's  subjects,  or  their  thankfulness  for  the 
blessings  of  his  wise  and  progressive  government. 
That  there  were  some  unquiet  spirits  among  his 
people  whose  minds  had  been  poisoned  by  the  spe- 
cious words  of  the  plotters,  and  some  whose  shift- 
less habits  had  made  them  see  only  one  chance  of 
worldly  advancement,  viz.,  a  social  upheaving,  and, 
consequently,  who  would  join  in  a  cry  against  the 
government,  was  true  enough ;  but  they  formed  oidy 
an  infinitesimal  proportion  of  the  people.  In  every 
State  there  are  some  worthless  citizens ;  Rome  was 
no  exception,  but  few  indeed  joined  the  ranks  of  the 


^^m^^m 


FATHERING  STORMS. 


233 


Revolutionists.  Disappointed  in  their  hopes  of  a 
popular  uprising,  the  plotters  were  obliged  to  con- 
cert measures  for  invading  the  States  of  the  Church. 
The  Piedmontese  government  was  bound  by  treaty 
with  France  to  respect,  and  to  cause  to  be  respected, 
the  territory  of  the  Pope.  .  Openly  it  could  not  help 
them,  but  it  could  shut  its  eyes  to  their  movements. 
Unless  France  were  to  demand  a  faithful  observance 
of  the  Convention  of  1864,  bands  of  armed  advent- 
urers Could  be  recruited  in  every  part  of  the  Penin- 
sula ;  they  could  cross  the  frontiers  of  the  Ponti- 
Hcal  territory  at  various  points,  and  converge  on 
Rome.  The  Pope's  army  was  only  small ;  the  sym- 
pathy of  the  Radicals  throughout  Europe  was  with 
the  plotters,  and,  to  their  undying  shame  be  it  re- 
corded, many  Protestants  of  England  and  America, 
in  their  narrow  bigotry  of  mind  and  hatred  of  the 
Church,  were  ready  to  applaud  such  a  piratical  ex- 
pedition. 

Not  far  from  the  "  Pass  of  Corese,"  a  point  of 
passage  between  the  dominions  then  actually  gov- 
erned by  the  Pope  and  the  rest  of  Italy,  there  rises 
a  low  chain  of  hills,  well-wooded  and  enclosing  ricli 
valleys.  Great  herds  of  cattle  feed  on  the  sweet 
grass  in  these  vales,  and  droves  of  swine  fatten  on  th«. 
acorns  and  chestnuts  on  the  wood-covered  heights. 

In  one  of  those  beautiful  but  silent  valleys,  on  an 
afternoon  in  the  first  days  of  October,  .1867,  a  man 
sat,  or  rather  lurked  suspiciously.  Close  by  him 
purled  a  little  brook  which  ran  on,  with  proud  alacrity, 
to  mingle  its  watere  with  those  of  the  sources  of  the 
Tiber;  long-horned  oxen  grazed  placidly  near;  the 


} 

\ 


234 


AFTER  WEARY   TEAR8. 


tearing  sound  they  nnade  at  each  bite  cliinied  witli 
the  babbling  of  tlie  brook  and  the  sawing  noise  of 
tlie  restless  cicada.  Dancing  beams  of  sunlijr^'^ 
peered  gleefully  down  from  tlie  crest  of  the  1 
which  the  sun  was  now  almost  touching ;  a  subdued 
and  mellow  glow  filled  .the  valley,  and  harmonized 
with  the  tranquillity  of  the  scene.  But  here,  as  in 
Eden,  the  perverse  will  of  man  mars  the  beauty  of 
creation.  The  solitary  individual  lurking  in  this 
quiet  spot  is  not  admiring  its  loveliness,  nor  praising 
the  Creator  for  His  works :  the  soothinsf  calm  of 
the  place  brings  no  quiet  to  his  soul,  nor  does  the 
innocence  of  nature  abash  his  guilty  heart.  He 
looks  impatiently  towards  the  declining  sun,  as 
cursing  its  tardy  course ;  he  gives  a  malignant  gla 
at  a  sleek  ox  which  had  come  unconsciously  near ; 
the  animal  quickly  retreats,  although  the  man  stirs 
not.  A  drove  of  swi^^e  had  been  drinking  at  the 
brook,  and  passed  near  him  on  their  way  up  to  the 
hills ;  one  large,  black  fellow  stood  opposite  him,  as 
if  curious  to  learn  something  of  his  histoiy.  It  gave 
a  grunt  by  way  of  friendly  recognition,  and  advanced 
a  step  or  two;  but  the  man  caught  its  eye,  and 
transfixed  it  with  a  scowl,  black  as  its  own  quivering 
bristles.  There  seemed  to  be  a  power  of  terrifying 
in  the  man's  eyes ;  the  brute  backed  a  few  paces, 
and  with  a  loud  snort,  more  of  alarm  than  of  tri- 
umph, darted  quickly  after  its  fellows. 

As  the  sun  sank  behind  the  hills  a  shrill  whistle 
resounded  far  up  among  the  stately  oaks ;  the  lurk- 
ing figure  arose  and  answered  it  with  a  similar  sound. 
A  crash,  a  tramp,  a  hurried   stamping   succeeded 


GATHERING  STORMS. 


235 


and  several  persons  emerged  from  the  woods  ;  they 
were  dressed  in  various  costumes,  but  had  one  article 
in  common, — a  red  sliirt.  This  was  the  badge  of 
tlie  Garibaldians ;  the  emblem  of  Revolution.  Our 
more  mature  female  readers  may  remember  that  the 
"  Garil)aldi  jacket"  was,  in  1860,  a  fashionable 
article  of  ladies'  wear.  It  is  a  question  if  ever  "  a 
fashion"  had  a  more  disgraceful  origin  ;  an  uncouth, 
impious  revolutionist  like  Garibaldi  donned  a  red 
shirt,  and  "  fashionable  ladies,"  who,  no  doubt, 
tliought  themselves  respectable  and  Christians,  aped 
the  adventurer.  Once  that  the  human  mind  has 
been  cut  adrift  from  the  True  Faith,  thei  e  is  no  end 
to  its  development  of  absurd  phases. 

The  troop  of  red-shirted  miscreants,  the  offscour- 
ings of  large  cities,  were  armed  witli  rifles,  and  some 
were  dragging  a  few  pieces  of  artillery.  As  they  ad- 
vanced the  firm  military  tread  of  some  of  the  leaders 
plainly  showed  that  they  had  been  drilled  in  a  regular 
army.  Already  the  shades  of  evening  were  darkening 
the  depths  of  the  valley  as  the  new-comers  drew  up, 
Ifi  a  half-military  fashion,  around  the  one  whom  we 
have  already  noticed.  Two  dancing  demons  glared 
from  the  eyes  of  this  man  as  he  surveyed  the  rude 
bands  of  armed  ruffians.  They  were  not,  however, 
Uil  ruffians;  some  had  been  misled  by  false  state- 
ments, and  some  had  been  too  weak  to  withdraw 
from  a  society  into  which  they  had  been  inveigled. 
But  scoundrel  was  too  plainly  written  on  the  brow 
of  many  of  them.  Evidently,  however,  they  all  felt 
themselves  in  the  presence  of  a  superior ;  even  the 
boldest  winced  under  the  scowling  glance  of  the  two 


n#iKil 


236 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


f. 


I 


demon-lighted  eyes  of  Capodiavolo.  Yes :  he  it  was 
who  had  been  lurking  in  the  still  valley,  frightening 
oxen,  and  quelling  a  fierce  liog  by  the  magnetic  in- 
fluence of  his  evil  eyes.  There  is  a  pre-eminence  of 
wickedness  which  subdues  less  wicked  natures,  jnst 
as  great  moral  excellence  renders  the  good  docile  to 
its  commands. 

The  cruel  beak  of  Capodiavolo's  hawk  nose  almost 
caught  his  twitching  upper  lip  (this  was  a  symptom 
of  being  well  pleased),  as  he  eyed  the  armed  bands ; 
turning  to  their  leader  he  said  : 

'*  This  is  a  brave  beginning,  Mars !  your  men  look 
well,  and  are  fairly  armed  :  how  many  can  you 
muster  ?" 

"  There  are,"  answered  Mars,  "  three  hundred 
here ;  within  an  hour  three  hundred  more  will  arrive ; 
and  four  hundred  are  to  cross  the  frontier  lower 
down.  I  have  thus  got  one  thousand  men  partly 
drilled,  and  well  provided  with  rifles  and  cannon. 
The  bands  under  Cairoli  and  Menotti  Garibaldi  are 
each  stronger  than  mine  ;  other  bands  are  in  conrse 
of  formation  and  will  be  ready  in  a  few  days." 

"  Well  done,  well  done,  my  bold  Mars ;  you  liave 
not  been  idle ;  this  looks  like  work  in  earnest.  In 
a  short  time  we  11  swoop  down  on  Rome,  drive 
out  the  Zouave,  with  the  butts  of  our  guns,  make 
the  streets  of  Rome  red  with  the  blood  of  its  priests 
and  monks,  and  proclaim  from  the  Capitol  the  Uni- 
versal Republic.  I  long  to  see  the  swords  fiasliing, 
and  the  foreign  rabble  flying  before  our  victorious 
banners.     But  where  is  Garibaldi  himself  ?" 

"  For  the  present  he  remains  quiet ;  his  son  Mc- 


GATHERING   STORMS. 


237 


notti  leads,  as  I  said,  a  large  band ;  so  soon  as  we 
have  all  crossed  the  frontier  and  massed  our  forces. 
Garibaldi  will  arrive  and  assume  the  ostensible  com- 
mand. This  was,  you  know,  your  own  Suggestion, 
and  all  the  lodges  have  accepted  it." 

"  I  should  think  they  have !  In  the  name  of  ten 
tliousand  devils,  do  you  suppose  that  any  of  them 
would  dare  oppose  the  suggestion  of  Capodiavolo  ? 
I  cannot  drill  a  squadron,  but  I  can  move  the  secret 
societies  at  my  pleasure ;  they  are  my  chessmen ; 
Europe  is  my  board ;  I  place  them  where  I  please." 

This  was  no  idle  boast ;  the  members  of  secret 
societies  are  the  veriest  slaves  in  existence.  By 
means  of  a  relentless  system  of  terror  thousands  of 
men  are  moved,  like  puppets,  by  some  master-hand 
which  is  invisible.  One  man  of  fierce,  malignant 
will  like  Capodiavolo,  or  two  or  three  others  in 
some  cases,  shape  the  whole  policy  of  the  seci'ct  so- 
cieties. And  yet  the  poor  human  figure-heads,  who 
dance  as  the  wire  is  pulled,  prate  about  liberty  and 
boast  of  their  freedom !  We  have  some  of  these 
mental  slaves  in  our  own  Dominion. 

"  Well,"  continued  Capodiavolo,  "  cross  the  fron- 
tier as  soon  as  the  others  arrive ;  attack  the  garrisons 
in  the  various  villages  as  you  move  on  towards  Monte 
Rotundo;  try  to  stir  up  the  inhabitants  to  a  revolt. 
There  are  only  a  few  Papal  soldiers  in  each  place. 
We  will  scatter  small  bands  of  our  men  all  over  the 
country,  and  thus  draw  off  the  enemy  from  Rome. 
We  have  men  and  arms  there,  and  while  the  l*apal 
troops  are  pursuing  our  scattered  bands,  our  main 
body,   which    will    mass   at  Moute-Rotoudo,   will 


I      ucmi 


^ 


5> 


■    A-J 

^::Si 

, 

■    Ua 

238 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


titi 


I 


J 


march  on  to  the  capital,  and  our  brothers  within 
will  rise  in  revolt  and  open  the  gates  to  us.  Tin's  is 
our  plan  of  operation ;  but  we  must  be  quick  in 
action.  If  we  do  not  reach  Home  soon  the  French 
troops  may  be  sent  back.  That  a  blighting  curse 
might  rest  on  the  heads  of  those  French  people  who 
will,  I  well  know,  clamor  against  us!  But  will 
reach  the  goal  first,  and  if  the  French  troops  oiiould 
follow  us  we  will  surrender  them  nothing  but  tlie 
cinders  of  the  churches  and  the  ashes  of  the  priests." 

"  Do  we  cross  to-night  ?" 

"  Yes ;  two  hours  hence.  We  must  be  in  Rome 
by  the  25th.'' 

This  conversation  between  Capodiavolo  and  his 
friend  Mars  gives  a  fair  idea  of  the  origin  of  the 
Garibaldian  raids  of  1867.  Men  and  arms  were 
transported  across  the  borders  of  the  Pope's  ter- 
ritory; they  swarmed  on  all  sides,  but  converged 
towards  Rome.  Knowing  that  the  Pontifical  army 
numbered  but  nine  or  ten  thousand  men  all  told, 
the  Revolutionists  hoped  to  draw  the  major  part  of 
them  off  from  the  city  in  pursuit  of  scattered  bands ; 
then  the  main  body  of  marauders  w^ould  hurry  down 
from  the  heights  of  Monte  Rotundo,  which  they  ex- 
pected to  capture  and  make  their  headquarters,  and 
advance  on  Rome  by  the  Nomentana  and  Salara 
Ways.  In  the  meantime  the  few  soldiers  witliin 
were  to  be  kept  busy  in  quelling  outbreaks  fomented 
by  the  secret  societies ;  thus  the  bands  hoped  to  en- 
counter but  little  resistance  when  they  should  arrive 
beneath  the  walls  of  the  Eternal  City. 

The  plot  was  well  laid ;  they  could  easily  bring 


BURSTING   OF  THE   CLOUDS. 


239 


more  men  into  the  field  than  the  Pontifical  army 
numbered ;  a  few  restless  spirits,  well  paid  and 
stimulated  by  the  hope  of  future  promotion,  would 
be  found  to  stir  up  internal  disorder.  The  govern- 
ment of  Yietor  Emanuel  would  not  take  any  very 
effective  measures  to  prevent  them  from  passing  the 
frontiers  with  men  and  arms ;  many  an  English 
dupe  would  supply  gold.  Hell  indeed  seemed, 
humanly  speaking,  about  to  triumph. 

Around  the  Chair  of  Peter  the  gathering  storms 
were  howling;  day  by  day  the  dark  clouds  grew 
more  dense,  and  soon  encircled  the  City  of  the  Popes. 
Tlie  long-apprehended  danger  was  at  hand ;  but  there 
were  brave  hearts  and  strong  arms  that  unsheathed 
the  sword  in  defence  of  religion  and  justice,  and  it 
would  go  hard  with  them  if  they  did  not  conquer. 


:,imi 


^ 


Uii 


CHAPTER  XV. 


BURSTING   OF   THE   CLOUDS. 


"  George,  I  have  just  called  to  say  good-bye  for  a 
few  days ;  after  to-night  we  shall  not  have  permis- 
sion to  leave  our  quarters.  The  war-cloud  has  burst 
near  Bagnorea ;  our  men  achieved  a  brilliant  suc- 
cess, but  the  whole  country  is  swarming  with  armed 
bands.  It  is  difficult  to  capture  them,  for  they  seem 
acquainted  with  all  the  defiles  and  passes  of  the 
hills." 

Morgan  spoke  these  words  excitedly  in  George 


240 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


b^ifpi' 


SJ 


II 

I; 


iK 


Marchbaiik's  studio  on  the  morning  of  October  9, 
1867.  His  company  was  now  in  Rome.  But  l)e- 
fore  following  any  further  his  fortunes  during  tlio 
Garibaldian  raids,  we  must  turn  back  nearly  three 
months,  and  visit,  with  Lorenzo,  the  liouse  of  Gio- 
vanni Aldini.  On  the  day  after  the  famous  ride 
over  the  hills  on  donkeys,  Peppe  brought  word  to 
Lorenzo  that  his  father  had  returned.  lie  at  once 
set  out  for  the  quiet  villa  near  Marino.  lie  found 
his  father  busy  writing,  and  noticed  his  desire  to 
hide  carefully  the  paper.  Giovanni  Aldini  had 
grown  aged  since  we  saw  him  a  year  ago  gathering 
grapes  on  the  banks  of  Lake  Albano.  He  had, 
however,  a  more  tranquil  look,  although  there  were 
still  traces  of  deep  anxiety,  or  of  a  conflict  between 
love  and  duty.  His  eyes  looked  as  fondly  on  Lo- 
renzo as  of  yore,  but  he  seemed  more  timid  in  his 
manner.  "  An  efEect  of  age  and  loneliness,"  thought 
Lorenzo. 

On  entering,  Lorenzo  kissed  liis  father's  hand, 
and  looked  with  unaffected  love  and  reverence  into 
his  eyes. 

"  Ah !  my  dear  Lorenzo,  how  glad  and  yet  how 
sorry  you  make  my  old  heart ;  dear  boy,  a  thousand 
blessings  on  your  manly  soul." 

"  My  father,  I  need  not  say  that  I  am  overjoyed 
to  see  you  looking  so  well  and  happy ;  but  how  do 
I  make  your  heart  sorry  ?" 

"  Because  you  cause  me  to  think  of  your  sainted 
mother ;  I  see  the  gentle  light  of  her  dreamy  eyes 
reilected  in  yours." 

This  was  the  first  occasion  on  which  Lorenzo  had 


•^mm-^'^^mmm 


BURSTING  OF  THE  CLOUDS. 


241 


ever  heard  his  fatlier  refer  to  his  mother  ;  his  silence 
had  been,  perhaps,  caused  bj  grief. 

"  Am  I  then  Hke  my  mother  ?"  said  Lorenzo  in  a 
wistful  tone. 

"The  very  image,  my  boy,  the  very  image;  she 
had  a  noble  heart  too,  and  would  rejoice  to  see  you 
drawing  your  sword  in  defence  of  the  rights  of  Holy 
Church." 

"  How  old  was  I  when  she  died  ?  where  is  she 
buried?  surely  you  will  tell  me  these  things 
now  ?'' 

"  You  were  between  four  and  five  when  you  last 
saw  her.  Ah  me  !  I  have  had  much  joy,  but  also 
much  pain,  since  that  time.  Beware,  Lorenzo,  of 
yielding  to  a  wrong  impulse;  beware  of  swerving 
from  the  right  path,  even  though  you  may  seek  to 
deceive  your  better  judgment,  or  to  still  the  voice 
of  conscience,  by  proposing  a  good  end.  How  much 
misery,  how  much  misery,'-  and  here  he  fairly 
groaned,  "  did  I  not  entail  on  myself  and  others  by 
one  rash  act !  But  a  day  of  partial  reparation  will 
yet  come." 

Lorenzo  was  at  a  loss  to  understand  this  emotion ; 
he  supposed  that  it  arose  from  awakening  the  mem- 
ory of  his  mother.  To  change  the  subject  he  asked, 
"  You  were  absent  a  long  time,  father  ;  may  I  ask 
where  you  were,  and  what  you  were  doing  ?" 

"About  business  which  may  one  day  turn  to  your 
advantage,  my  dear  Lorenzo.  My  days  are  drawing 
to  a  close,  and  I  have  much  reparation  to  make  to 
you.     That  is  why  I  was  absent." 

"  Why  do  you  so  often  speak,  dear  father,  as  if 
11 


nsxm 


^ 


}) 


!     1 


r 


242 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


you  had  done  me  a  wrong  ?  Is  it  to  teach  me  hu- 
mility, by  giving  me  an  example  in  severely  censur- 
ing your  own  conduct  for  imaginary  faults  ?  It  is  I 
who  have  injured  you  by  many  a  youthful  act  of 
thoughtlessness." 

"  God  sees  the  heart ;  men  judge  by  appearances ; 
I  have  indeed  tried  to  make  you  happy  and  virtu- 
ous ;  I  have  striven  to  do  for  you  better  than  your 
mother  could  have  hoped  to  do  when  you  lost  her ; 
still  I  took  the  wrong  way.  One  day  you  will  kno\v 
my  meaning;  do  not,  then,  be  too  harsh  in  con- 
demning." 

"  I  shall  always  think  of  your  kindness,  and  of 
nothing  else  in  connection  with  your  memory." 

"  God  bless  you  for  that ;  the  same  gentle  mind 
of  his  mother,"  he  murmured,  and  then  speaking 
aloud  said  :  "  This  paper  which  you  found  me  writ- 
ing will  tell  you  all.  Believe  it,  however  improba- 
ble it  may  appear ;  sufficient  proof  of  its  truth  will 
be  furnished.  Peppe  can  confirm  the  greater  part 
of  it.     You  shall  get  it  by  and  by." 

"But,  father,  will  you  tell  me  something  about 
the  photograph  which  you  gave  me  ?  Did  I  ever 
see  the  original  ?    Is  she  alive  ?" 

"  Yes,  to  both  questions,  dear  Lorenzo  ;  but  you 
were  only  a  child  when  you  saw  her.  She  Is  about 
your  own  age,  or  a  little  younger,  and  as  good  and 
beautiful  as  the  promise  of  that  picture." 

"  Have  you,  then,  seen  her  lately  ?" 

"  No ;  but  I  have  heard  of  her  from  good  autlior- 
ity." 

Lorenzo  was  silent,  musing  on  the  strange  revela- 


:';t: 


Hi'; 


■^"■i 


BURSTING  OF  THE  CLOUDS. 


243 


tion ;  he  would  fain  ask  more,  but  he  plainly  saw 
that  his  father  was  anxious  to  change  the  subject. 
He  had  been  too  well  taught  in  his  youth  to  respect 
not  only  the  commands,  but  also  the  wishes,  of  his 
father,  to  press  the  matter.  After  all,  what  did  it 
signify  ?  he  thought.  Still,  the  fair  child-face  of  the 
locket  would  rise  up  before  his  mind's  eye,  and  make 
him  anxious  to  know  more  of  its  history.  After 
some  further  conversation  they  walked  out  together. 
The  old  man  was  feebler  than  in  days  gone  by,  still 
he  loved  a  quiet  walk ;  he  proposed,  therefore,  to 
accompany  Lorenzo  a  part  of  the  way  to  the  "  Plains 
of  Hannibal."  They  came  along  the  dusty  highway 
wliich  runs  over  the  brow  of  the  slopes  from  Al ban o, 
by  Marino,  to  the  Tuscnlum  hills.  A  short  distance 
from  Marino  a  by-path  strikes  off  from  the  main 
road  and  runs  through  a  shady  ravine.  Ages  ago  a 
rushing  stream  dashed  wildly  along  this  course;  but 
now  only  the  smooth,  worn  rocks  of  the  bottom,  and 
the  jagged  banks,  with  here  and  there  a  deep  recess 
eaten  out  of  the  softer  parts  of  the  ledge,  are  the 
monuments  which  attest  the  fact.  Wild  vines  trail 
along  each  side  of  the  ravine,  and,  running  out 
bravely  on  the  branches  of  the  chestnut  and  elm, 
often  meet  and  entwine  their  tendrils  over  the  head 
of  the  grateful  wayfarer. 

Along  this  cool  path  Lorenzo  and  his  father  saun- 
tered, the  latter  listening  with  eager  delight  to  liis 
son's  account  of  barrack  life.  As  Lorenzo  fre- 
quently spoke  of  his  "friend  Morgan,"  the  old  man 
asked  who  he  was. 

''  Oh  I"  answered  Lorenzo,  "  he  is  a  Canadian,  the 


244 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


*  ^ 


''4111 


t 


\^m 


son  of  Irish  parents.  His  home  is  on  the  banks  of 
the  great  St.  Lawrence." 

"  His  name  ?"  asked  the  old  man  with  a  half  per- 
ceptible effort  to  speak  calmly. 

"  Leahy,''  said  Lorenzo  :  "  he  is,  I  assure  you,  a 
noble  character,  and  we  are  most  intimate  friends: 
but  what  ails  you  ?" 

This  question  was  caused  by  the  old  man's  leaning 
back  against  the  rocky  side  of  the  ravine,  and  put- 
ting his  hand  to  his  heart.  But  quickly  recovering, 
he  replied : 

"  Nothing,  notliiiig,  my  dear  boy ;  a  sudden  pain ; 
I  often  have  had  it,"  he  said,  with  a  wan  smile. 
"  So  you  and  he  are  very  intimate  ?  Bring  him 
with  you  some  day.  I  suppose  you  have  no  secrets 
from  one  another  ?"  This  was  asked  with  evident 
trepidation. 

"  None,  I  think,  father.  He  has  told  me  all 
about  himself  and  his  family, — about  his  own  hopes 
and  aspirations  ;  I  have  done  likewise.  Still,  there 
is  one  thing  I  kept  back  from  him;  I  was  half 
ashamed  to  speak  to  him  about  it." 

"  What  was  that,  Lorenzo  ?" 

"  The  locket ;  I  never  showed  it  to  him." 

"It  would  be  as  well  not  to  show  it  for  some 
time  yet.  When  you  know  more  about  its  history, 
show  it." 

"You  will  tell  me  more,  dear  father?" 

"  I  will,  my  boy  ;  but  now  I  must  return.  If 
your  friend  be  as  noble  as  you  say  he  is,  let  your 
friendship  increase  and  wax  stronger.  May  every 
good  blessing  attend  you,  my  boy." 


H      4 


J     ■  laii  I     I" 


BURSTING  OF  THE  OLOtTDS. 


245 


Lorenzo  hurried  on  his  way,  thinking  much  of 
what  his  father  had  said  ;  the  thought  of  the  story 
of  the  locket  liaunted  him  most.  What  was  it? 
What  connection  had  it  with  his  own  and  his  father's 
history  ?  There  was  evidently  some  mystery  about 
his  father's  life  ;  Lorenzo  felt  it  now,  and  many  an 
action  of  the  past,  on  which  he  had  never  reflected 
at  the  time,  came  up  to  his  remembrance  and  pro- 
claimed a  secret.  The  days  of  the  cholera,  shortly 
after  this  visit,  left  him  little  time  for  speculation  ; 
the  return  to  Rome  and  the  excitement  of  an  ap- 
proaching Garibaldian  raid  almost  banished  all 
thought  of  this  kind  from  his  mind.  This  was  his 
state  on  the  morning  on  which  Morgan  rushed  to 
George  Marchbank  with  the  startling  announcement 
of  the  bursting  of  the  war-cloud. 

"  So  you  are  likely  to  have  hot  work  soon,"  said 
George,  as  Morgan  related  the  news  from  the  Prov- 
inces. "  How  do  you  feel  at  the  prospect  of  stand- 
ing as  a  target  for  some  ruffian's  rifle  V 

"  I  shall  not  be  a  very  steady  target,  George ; 
once  we  come  face  to  face  with  the  enemies  of  the 
Holy  Father,  I  will  be  an  ever-advancing  one." 

"  Seriously,  Morgan,  this  is  bad  news.  Are  the 
people  likely  to  join  the  raiders  ?" 

"  So  far  from  it  that  already  they  are  enrolling 
themselves  in  irregular  companies,  under  the  direc- 
tion of  the  gens-d'armes.  They  are  forming  a  sort 
of  local  militia  which  will  do  good  service  on  the 
hills  against  the  various  bands.  Here  in  Rome 
there  is  quite  a  regiment  of  volunteers  already  en- 


vtmm 


I 


1."  ■    t 
>    I 


i1  '■ 


< 


.    I 


246 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


rolled  to  light  for  tlie  rights  of  Holy  Churcli. 
Prince  Lancellotti  commands  this  body ;  the  Civic 
Guard  has  also  turned  out  in  force,  and  will  be 
quite  suflBcient  to  repress  any  internal  uprising. 
There  are  many  foreign  agitators  in  the  city,  but 
the  Civic  Guard  can  look  after  them,  and  thus  leave 
the  regular  soldiers  at  liberty  to  meet  the  raiders." 

"  Why,  it  used  to  be  said  that  the  Pope's  subjects 
were  tired  of  his  sway  ;  that  they  would  rather  iight 
against  him  than  for  him.  This  does  not  look  like 
disaffection." 

"Do  you  not  know,  George,  that  one  of  the 
weapons  most  persistently  used  against  the  Holy 
See  is  falsehood  ?  Tell  the  world  the  truth  about 
Rome  and  the  grand  actions  of  its  Popes,  and  every 
right-thinking  man  must  side  with  the  Pope.  But 
the  enemies  of  order  and  religion  lie,  lie,  lie.  Tliey 
falsify  history ;  they  slander  the  noblest  characters 
of  Christianity ;  they  spread  malicious  falsehoods 
regarding  the  Pope's  government  and  the  feelings 
of  his  subjects.  At  the  lodges  of  the  secret  societies 
these  infamous  lies  are  retailed  by  the  worst  vil- 
lains; the  more  innocent  "brethren"  present  are 
deceived  ;  they  believe  the  speeches  of  their  chiefs, 
and  return  to  their  families  ardent  apostles  of  a  sys- 
tem of  lies.  Thus  from  the  lodges  to  the  home 
circle,  and  thence  through  the  whole  community, 
the  same  stupid  calumny  is  borne.  What  wonder 
that  little  of  the  truth  is  really  known  about  our 
religion,  or  that  it  has  many  enemies  ?" 

"  You  are  right,  Morgan ;  I  have  learned  to  love 
-Rome  in  a  short  time,  because  I  have  had  experi- 


BURSTING   OF  THE  CLOUDS. 


247 


ence  of  it.  My  own  notions  concerning  it  were,  T 
confess,  at  one  time  very  grotesque.  In  our  fair 
Dominion  how  many  conceited  spouters,  wlio  im- 
agine themselves  politicians,  insanely  rave  about 
Rome  !  It  must  make  the  devils  grin  with  delight 
as  tliey  contemplate  their  ignorant  dupes.  But  why 
does  not  the  government  arrest  these .  foreign  agita- 
tors who  are  in  the  city  ?" 

"  Because,  although  known  to  be  plotters,  legal 
proof  is  not  just  at  hand.  In  countries  of  boasted 
freedom  the  haheas  corpus  would  be  suspended,  and 
the  prisons  would  soon  be  filled.  But  Rome,  al- 
though called  tyrannical,  respects  more  than  any 
other  government  the  real  liberty  of  man.  Of 
course,  if  there  were  imminent  danger,  martial  law 
would  be  proclaimed ;  in  that  case  the  military 
authorities  would  soon  arrest  these  revolutionists." 

"  Morgan,  I  will  enroll  in  the  volunteers ;  in  a 
crisis  like  this  I  will  do  what  I  can  to  defend  my 
present  home.  You  are  aware  that  I  have  been 
drilled.     I  suppose  I  shall  be  received  ?" 

"Oh!  if  you  wish  to  join  I  can  make  that  all 
right." 

"  I  do  wish  it ;  let  us  go  and  see  about  it  at  once." 

The  two  friends  sallied  forth  and  sought  the 
headquarters  of  the  volunteers :  Artisans,  mer- 
chants, and  various  members  of  the  middle  class  of 
citizens  as  well  as  of  the  aristocracy  were  inscribed 
in  this  regiment,  and  did  good  service  during  the 
trying  days  of  October  1867.  Morgan,  who  was 
acquainted  with  the  commander,  introduced  his 
friend,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  his  name 


IliKMI 


m 


5> 


248 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


I'W 


enrolled  on  the  list  of  active  members.  They  then 
separated,  to  meet  in  more  exciting  scenes. 

Dark  days  succeeded  for  Rome :  the  plotters  were 
at  work,  and  Kevolntionists  boldlv  walked  the  streets 
by  mid-day.  Treason  there  was,  it  is  true,  but  it 
was  rare ;  still  it  lurked  darkly  in  the  back-streets 
of  the  city,  and  under  cover  of  the  night  fomcntL'd 
disturbances.  An  oppressive  fear  seemed  to  have 
settled  over  the  more  timid  of  the  citizens  ;  it  was 
not  of  a  kind  with  that  which  would  be  excited  by 
the  approach  of  a  large  invading  army ;  it  was 
rather  the  undefinablc  dread  which  takes  possession 
of  the  nervous  when  passing  a  lonely  spot  by  night. 
The  wildest  rumors  were  afloat.  It  was  well  known 
to  every  one  that  Rome  was  filled  with  emiss.iries  of 
the  secret  societies ;  they  had  flocked  in  from  vai-ions 
parts  of  Italy,  and  were  supposed  to  have  an  ample 
supply  of  arms.  It  was  felt  that  a  slumbering  vol- 
cano was  beneath  the  feet  of  the  citizens,  and  that  a 
disastrous  eruption  might,  at  any  moment  take 
place.  The  diabolical  hatred  of  religion  with  which 
many  of  the  leaders  were  actuated,  the  lawlessness 
of  rufBan  bands,  the  paucity  of  the  Pontifical 
troops, — all  conspired  to  unsettle  men's  minds. 

As  the  days  of  Octobei'  passed  bands  <  f  aiders 
were  everywhere  at  work  through  tl  ontifical 
States.  If  a  force  were  sent  against  tli-m  at  one 
point,  they  would  disappear,  and  begin  a  ra  d  in 
another  quarter.  If  too  hotly  pursued,  they  would 
quietly  step  across  the  frontier  and  laugh  at  the 
soldiers  who  could  no  longer  follow  them.  From 
this  it  can  easily  be  seen  how  difficult  was  the  task 


OTHm 


BURSTING   OF  THE  CLOUDS. 


249 


of  tlie  defenders  of  Kome.  Few  in  nnmber,  and 
obliged  to  protect  a  large  tract  of  country,  it  was 
impossible  for  them  to  succeed.  Whenever  they 
got  an  opportunity  of  lighting,  as  at  Bagnorea,  Val- 
licorsa  and  Montiparioli,  the  soldiers  of  the  Pope 
made  short  work  of  their  enemies.  But  as  the 
raiders  kept  beyond  range  as  much  as  possible,  and 
tired  out  the  Pontifical  troops  by  ceaseless  marches 
and  watches  by  day  and  night,  there  was  but  little 
room  left  for  bravery. 

In  that  region  of  Kome  known  as  the  Ghetto^  the 
quarter  in  which  the  Jews  reside,  are  various  tum- 
ble-down houses  nodding  backward  into  the  Tiber. 
They  appear  to  have  been  asleep  for  centuries,  and 
may  be  expected  to  leap  into  the  yellow  stream  on 
awaking.  In  one  of  the  most  suicidal-looking  of 
these  ruined  habitations  a  deep  plot  was  being 
matured  on  the  night  of  October  21.  Bags  of  bone- 
dust,  heaps  of  dirty  scraps  of  paper,  unshapely 
piles  of  rags,  are  crowded  in  the  dingy  front-room. 
We  have  a  friend  who  once  began,  in  verse,  "  The 
story  of  a  rag."  It  might  seem  a  strange,  or,  per- 
haps, a  forbidding  theme  for  the  Epic  Muse ;  yet 
what  adventures  might  not  a  rag  relate,  were  it  but 
endowed  with  intelligence  !  However,  on  this  par- 
ticular night  of  which  our  story  treats,  the  lags  were 
all  silent :  if  they  had  a  history  of  their  own  they 
preserved  a  discreet  silence  regarding  it.  Not  silent, 
however,  were  the  rag-pickers,  who,  seated  on  the 
lioor,  sorted  their  wares  by  the  dim  liglit  of  a  small 
lamp.  An  old,  cunning-looking  man,  with  hooked 
nose,  sunken  gums,  protruding  chin,  wrinkled  brow 
11*         . 


mnm 


nmy 


il  8i 


I  ■; 

■1*      V 

1  '  ' 

i  1 

;    ! 

'1 

260 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


and  small  keen  eyes,  was  the  proprietor  of  this  den. 
His  grizzly  and  matted  hair  hung  down  beneath  a 
red  worsted  night-cap ;  his  other  articles  of  wearing 
apparel  were  old  and  tattered  ;  his  stockings  were 
unmatched,  and  he  wore  a  shoe  on  one  foot  and  an 
ankle- jack  on  the  other.  All  these  indications  bore 
out  the  truth  of  the  theory  that  his  wardrobe  had 
been  picked  out  of  the  gutters  of  Rome.  Around 
him  were  seated  two  slovenly  girls  and  three  boys 
whose  clothes  and  countenances  were  the  color  of 
the  sewage  in  which  most  of  their  lives  had  been 
spent.  It  is  only  when  contemplating  such  charac- 
ters as  these  that  one  can  realize  how  degraded  a 
human  being  may  become.  A  constant  chatter  was 
kept  up  by  these  occupants  of  this  dreary  haunt ; 
each  one  related  for  the  common  amusement  a  part 
of  his,  or  her  adventures  during  the  day.  Occa- 
sionally the  old  man  attempted  a  smile  ;  it  was  when 
any  one  told  how  deftly  a  good  handkerchief,  or 
some  article  of  linen,  had  been  snatched  from  a  line. 
The  greedy  look  which  came  into  his  eyes  as  he  sur- 
veyed the  prize  plainly  told  that  his  mirth  was  not 
like  that  of  his  younger  companions,  caused  by  the 
dexterity  of  the  trick,  but  by  the  love  of  money. 

From  time  to  time  persons  had  been  entering  this 
haunt,  and,  after  slightly  nodding  to  the  old  man, 
passed  into  a  back  room  which  hung  over  the  Tiber. 
It  had  once  been  a  covered  gallery,  overlooking  the 
water,  but  had  been  since  transformed  into  a  room 
lighted  from  the  roof,  and  walled  off  from  the  front 
apartment,  so  as  to  lead  a  stranger  to  suppose  that 
there  was  nothing  beyond.    A  trap-door  in  the  floor 


ilLi 


BURSTING   OF  THE  CLOUDS. 


251 


showed,  when  raised,  the  swift-flowing  Tiber  a  few 
feet  below.  A  muffled  form  entered  the  front  room, 
and  one  glance  from  the  evil  eyes  revealed,  notwith- 
standing his  disguise,  Capodiavolo.  As  he  passed 
on,  the  old  man,  who  might  be  taken  for  his  father, 
rose,  and  bidding  his  companions  continue  their 
work  and  talk,  and  assume  ignorance  of  his  where- 
abouts should  any  one  call,  followed  Capodiavolo. 
There  were  in  all  some  ten  or  twelve  collected  in 
the  back  room  ;  a  small  earthen  oil-lamp  cast  faint 
shadows  of  light  through  the  mouldy  apartment. 
Green  lizards  darted  quickly  around  the  floor,  and 
slimy  reptiles  crawled  up  the  walls.  A  venomous 
scorpion  showed  its  head,  for  a  moment,  in  a  faint 
streak  of  light,  and  was  crushed  beneath  the  heel 
of  Capadiavolo.  "Thus  will  we  crush  the  scor- 
pion of  Italy,"  hissed  the  reprobate,  meaning  the 
Pope. 

"  The  work  is  going  forward  too  slowly,"  began 
Capodiavolo ; "  we  have  not,  as  yet,  obtained  a  victory. 
True,  we  have  surprised  and  captured  one  or  two 
small  guards  of  soldiers,  but  no  place  of  importance 
has  been  taken.  Monte  Eotondo  is  not  yet  besieged, 
although  it  must  be  our  base  of  operations.  In  a 
day  or  two  it  will  be  invested  by  a  large  force; 
Garibaldi  will  be  in  command ;  but  it  is  necessary 
to  terrify  the  enemy  here,  so  that  no  troops  may  be 
sent  out  to  assist  the  garrison  of  that  town.  We 
must  keep  the  base  soldiers  of  the  Papacy  employed 
in  preserving  order  in  the  city,  while  our  men 
attack  the  outlying  towns.  Once  these  are  in  our 
hands  tlie  whole  of  the  force  will  march  to  the  walls 


■tsnt 


3» 


252 


AFTER  ^EARY  YEARS. 


<4 


of  Rome :  we  inside  will  then  openly  co-operate  with 
our  friends  without." 

"  A  good  plan,  by  Dives  !"  (he  always  swore  by 
the  rich  reprobate)  grinned  the  old  man  ;  "  you  have 
the  head  of  a  devil,  my*  noble  patriot.  But  why 
trust  to  the  sword  and  bullets  alone  for  success  < 
Why  not  try  a  little  blowing-up?" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  queried  Capodiavolo. 

"Only  this,"  said  the  heartless  wretch.  " Blow 
up  the  barracks,  the  churches,  the  houses  of  the 
aristocracy,  the  Pope  himself." 

A  sudden  start  ran  through  the  crowd.  The  ball 
had  been  thrown  ;  when,  or  where  would  it  alight? 
Capodiavolo  worked  his  upper  lip ;  it  seemed  as  if 
the  cruel  nose  would  at  last  succeed  in  biting  it; 
then,  turning  to  the  old  man,  he  said : 

"  Is  this  thing  possible  on  a  short  notice  ?  We 
might  send  some  dozens  of  the  foreign  rabble  flying 
in  the  air,  if  we  could  undermine  their  barracks." 

"  The  Serristori  barracks  do  not  need  undermin- 
ing.   A  sewer  passes  under  them ;  a  barrel  or  two  of 
powder,  a  well-laid  train,  a  lighted  match,  and,  2)qf 
away  to  the  devil  go  a  hundred  Zouaves,  or  more. 
Thus  the  old  man  spoke. 

"  It  is  an  excellent  device  ;  a  good  plan  of  ridding 
ourselves  of  those  hirelings  of  the  vampire  of  Italy," 
jerked  out  Capodiavolo,  his  evil  eyes  scintillating  in 
the  dusk  of  the  room.  Our  readers  must  pardon 
the  quotation  of  such  infamous  language.  To  call 
the  noble  defenders  of  the  rights  of  Holy  Church 
"hirelings,"  and  the  grand  old  Pontiff,  whose  name 
will  stand  out^amongst  the  purest  and  best  of  man- 


mm 


BURSTING  OF  THE  CLOUDS. 


263 


kind,  the  "  Yampire  of  Italy,"  is  enough  to  make 
the  blood  of  a  true  Christian  run  cold ;  yet  it  may 
be  well  to  quote  such  expressions,  in  order  to  show 
the  infernal  nature  of  the  plot  against  the  Church 
and  Rome.  It  is  the  thought  of  demons  clothed  in 
human  speech,  but  it  is  not  invented  by  us.  It  is 
well  for  Catholics  to  fully  realize  that  it  is  hell 
which  has  stirred  up,  and  still  stirs,  that  wild  revolt 
against  Religion,  the  rights  of  man,  and  God,  that 
is  now  agitating  many  parts  of  the  world. 

"  What  think  you,  Mars,  of  this  old  hell-babe's 
scheme  ?" 

"I  do  not  like  it,"  bluntly  spoke  this  individual ; 
"  I  am  ready  to  lead  my  men  openly  against  those 
foreign  dogs,  but  his  plan  is  too  dastardly  an  act  for 
a  soldier  to  commit." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Capodiavolo,  with  a  blood- 
curdling execration,  "  have  you  pity  on  these  detest- 
able scoundrels  ?  Are  we  not  sworn  to  overthrow 
the  Pope,  and  shall  we  scruple  about  the  means  to 
be  employed  ?  There  is  a  »rim  irony  in  the  phrase 
of  taking  Rome  by  'moral  i  3aiis' ;  this  blowing-up 
of  the  barracks  will  give  the  lie  to  the  half-hearted 
knaves  who  seek  to  deceive  themselves  and  others. 
Our  motto  is  '  Rome  or  Death  ' ;  Garil)akli  has 
raised  it,  though  I  much  fear  the  drivelling  old 
agitator  will  not  choose  the  alternative  of  death,  but 
we  must.  Rome  must  fall  by  any  means  we  can 
devise.  Better  to  stand  weeping  'midst  the  ruins 
and  ashes  of  a  fallen  city  than  to  live  surrounded  by 
luxury,  with  the  Church  still  triumphantly  launch- 
ing its  anathemas  against  our  societies.     The  city  of 


^m 


]\ 


"^ 


1 

Hi 

m 

■^^ 

254 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


the  Popes  must  be  blotted  out ;  its  ashes  must  be 
saturated  with  the  heart' s-blood  of  the  black-frocked 
fry  wlio  feed  on  its  people.  Out  from  the  blood- 
dyed  ashes  a  new  Rome  will  arise — the  Rome  of 
Atheism — the  mother  of  the  Universal  Republic.  A 
marble  pillar,  with  the  terse  inscription, 

^Here  stood  Rome,' 


will  proclaim  to  future  ages  our  victory  over  the 
superstition  of  the  Cross." 

At  the  conclusion  of  this  blasphemous  rhapsody 
Capodiavolo  glared  round  on  his  companions.  The 
old  man  leered  hideously,  and  softly  clapped  his 
long  hands ;  then  he  began  clawing  the  air  with  his 
skeleton  fingers,  which  had  a  cruel  and  hawk-like 
look  on  account  of  the  long  nails  with  which  they 
were  armed.  If  Capodiavolo  were  not  his  son  he 
inherited  his  malice.  The  others,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  Mars,  appeared  indifferent.  He  looked  dis- 
turbed, and  turning  to  Capodiavolo  said  : 

"  I  am  anxious  to  take  Rome,  but  I  cannot  resort 
to  such  base  means.  After  we  have  achieved  a  vic- 
tory how  can  we  look  the  world  in  the  face  if  our 
battles  have  been  won  by  the  coward's  trick,  and  not 
by  the  brave  man's  steel  ?" 

A  derisive  snarl  broke  from  the  lips  of  Capodia- 
volo and  the  old  man  ;  it  was  not  a  laugh,  nor  yet  a 
snort ;  it  was  like  the  choking  of  an  evil  spirit. 

"  Are  you  such  an  idiot  to  suppose  that  the  world 
will  cry  shame  when  we  do  this  deed  against  Rome  'i 
Were  it  to  be  done  against  any  other  government 


BURSTING   OF  THE   CLOUDS. 


255 


the  case  would  be  different,  but  hell  and  the  world 
are  leagued  with  us  against  the  Pope." 

Was  Capodiavolo  right  in  this  assertion  ? 

Mars  pleaded  military  business  and  withdrew, 
saying  that  he  was  ready  to  lead  an  attack  on  the 
l)arracks,  but  not  to  blow  them  up.  The  old  man 
after  his  departure  mocked,  with  horril)le  levity, 
the  sentiments  of  Mars,  and  conjured  the  others  to 
stick  at  nothing  in  order  to  compass  their  designs. 
Capodiavolo  then  unfolded  his  plans.  At  a  given 
hour  the  next  night  the  gas  was  to  be  cut  off,  the 
barracks  of  Serristori  were  to  be  blown  up,  an  at- 
tack was  to  be  made  on  the  Capitol  and  on  Caste! 
San  Angelo,  while  small  bands  were  to  create  a 
diversion  in  various  quarters  of  the  city.  It  was 
hoped  that  the  darkness  and  confusion  thus  caused 
would  strike  terror  into  the  hearts  of  all,  and  that 
Rome  would  be  theirs  before  the  arrival  of  their 
fellow-plotters  from  without.  The  signal  for  com- 
mencing this  dark  work  of  iniquity  was  to  be  the 
ringing  of  the  great  bell  of  the  Capitol.  A  party 
was  detailed  to  bribe  the  keeper  of  the  tower,  or 
failing  in  this,  to  find  some  means  of  ascent  to  the 
bell.  Monti  and  Tognetti,  two  uidiappy  workmen 
who  had  been  ensnared  l)y  the  secret  societies,  were 
to  blow  up  the  barracks ;  the  mode  of  attack,  and 
the  leaders,  were  duly  fixed  upon  by  Capodiavolo, 
and  the  plot  was  complete.  Fiercely  did  the  old 
man  and  Capodiavolo  gloat  over  the  anticipated  suc- 
cess of  their  scheme;  it  was  deeply  planned  and 
well  wrought  thus  far;  what  was  to  prevent  their 
triumph  ?    Humanly  speaking,  nothing ;  but  against 


llMM 


*4 


^ 


256 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


heaven  no  counsels  shall  prevail ;  no  plot  of  man,  or 
devils,  can  defeat  the  Omnipotent. 

Another  day  had  passed  away  forever ;  anotlier 
grain  of  sand  had  silently  fallen  from  the  hour-glass 
of  centuries ;  another  bubble  had  burst  on  the  ocean 
of  time.  Those  who  lived  in  Rome  during  the 
eventful  period  of  which  this  chapter  treats  well 
know  the  sense  of  danger  experienced  by  all.  No 
soldier  was  seen  without  his  musket,  with  bayonet 
fixed ;  the  gates  of  the  city  were  fortified,  and  the 
walls  were  pierced  to  permit  a  safe  fire  from  riiies 
on  an  advancing  enemy.  The  citizens  retired  he- 
times  from  the  streets,  and  the  family  circle  spoke 
in  hushed  tones  regarding  the  villany  of  the  raiders. 
Many  a  prayer  was  wafted  to  heaven  for  the  succefs 
of  the  gallant  little  army  which  stood,  like  an  im- 
movable rock,  between  the  Eternal  City  and  the 
flood  of  revolutionary  hate.  Many  a  prayer  was 
wafted  to  heaven  for  the  preservation  and  triumph  of 
the  immortal  Pius  IX.,  that  God  might  be  pleased 
to  sustain  this  noble  defender  of  social  order  and 
justice.  Of  all  the  crowned  heads  of  Europe  he 
stood  alone,  battling  against  the  dark  conspirators 
against  the  well-being  of  nations.  Mankind  has 
paid  a  ready  homage  to  Iloratius  Codes,  the  nohle 
Roman  who  defended  alone  the  bridge  against  a 
hostile  army ;  but  the  moral  grandeur  of  Pius  IX., 
weak  and  old,  standing  forth  to  fight  single-handed 
the  battle  of  justice  and  truth  against  the  liordes  of 
earth  and  hell,  far  eclipses  the  physical  beauty  of 
the  resistance  made  by  the  brave  Codes. 


mm 


BURSTING  OF  THE  CLOUDS. 


257 


The  company  in  which  were  Morgan  and  Lorenzo 
was  quartered  in  the  Serristori  barracks.  They 
were  situated  on  one  of  the  streets  which  lead  from 
the  Castel  San  Angelo  to  the  Square  of  St.  Peter's. 
Several  companies  of  Zouaves  were,  for  the  present, 
quartered  here.  The  mantle  of  night  had  fallen 
over  the  City  of  the  Popes ;  the  rippling  Tiber, 
humming  as  it  meandered  past  its  historic  bride, 
glinted  in  the  light  of  a  young  moon  ;  the  sentinel's 
tread  resounded  far  in  the  still  night,  and  gradually 
died  away  in  the  deserted  streets  with  a  gentle  pat- 
ter, soft  as  the  footfalls  of  disentombed  spirits. 
Save  for  this  sound  and  a  few  glaring  lamps,  Rome 
might  have  been  taken  for  a  city  of  the  dead ;  its 
graceful  turrets  and  symmetrical  domes  shone  white 
in  the  moonbeams,  like  marble  memorials  of  the  de- 
parted. In  the  heavens  and  in  the  air  all  was  calm- 
ness  and  peace. 

But  now  a  loud  report,  a  hissing  in  the  air,  a  crash 
of  falling  masonry,  smothered  cries  of  pain,  and  a 
wild  confusion  of  voices  as  the  erst  deserted  streets 
fill  with  human  beings,  break  harshly  upon  the  tran- 
quil night.  A  slight  crackling  of  musketry  is  heard 
near  the  Capitol,  and  it  adds  new  terror  to  the  situa- 
tion. The  vile  deed  has  been  accomplished  in  part : 
a  portion  of  the  Serristori  barracks  has  been  blown 
up,  and  has  buried  a  few  Zouaves  and  two  civilians 
who  were  passing  along,  beneath  its  ruins.  But  the 
prayers  of  the  good  had  not  been  offered  in  vain. 
Just  before  the  explosion,  contrary  to  all  expecta- 
tion, an  order  had  come  to  draw  off  several  compan- 
ies of  the  Zouaves  to  another  point  of  the  city.    This 


mm 

■  mm 


if 


258 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


11 


■m 


providential  order  left  tlie  part  of  the  barracks  which 
was  blown  up  alnnost  empty.  Only  a  few  members 
of  the  band  remained.  Thus  were  the  lives  of  many 
gallant  soldiers  saved. 

An  assault  was  made  on  the  guard  at  the  Capitol, 
but  it  was  easily  repelled ;  the  deep-laid  plot  was  a 
failure.  Capodiavolo  gnashed  his  teeth  as  he  sat 
some  hours  later  in  the  same  room  in  which,  on  the 
preceding  night,  he  had  plotted  to  so  little  purpose. 
The  old  man  was  there  scowling  like  an  exorcised 
demon ;  Mars,  too,  was  there,  wounded  and  moody. 
He  had  led  the  attack  on  the  Capitol,  and  had  been 
quickly  routed.  He  looked  upon  the  blowing-up 
of  the  barracks  as  base  and  injudicious. 

"  We  shall  have  martial  law  proclaimed  to-mor- 
row, owing  to  that  cowardly  act,  and  then  we  must 
fly^  the  city.  We  are  known,  and  the  moment  one 
of  our  men  appears  abroad  he  will  be  pounced  upon 
and  cast  into  prison.  I  sincerely  hope  Monti  and 
Tognetti  may  be  caught  and  cut  into  ten  thousand 
pieces." 

Thus  spoke  Mars  in  answer  to  Capodiavolo's  la- 
ment over  the  failure  of  his  plot. 

"  I  would  sell  my  soul  to  the  Prince  of  Darkness 
for  one  hour's  triumph  over  the  accursed  minions 
who  surround  the  gangrene  of  our  country." 

These  words  came  from  the  throat  of  Capodiavolo 
as  if  an  evil  spirit,  having  taken  possession  of  him, 
were  striving  to  use  his  vocal  organs. 

"Yon  are  sold  already,  for  the  matter  of  that; 
the  devil  is  ever  ready  to  buy,  but  he  is  a  poor  pay- 
master, curse  him.    I  am  a  Jew,  but  I  almost  think 


BURSTING   OF  THE   CLOUDS. 


259 


tlie  story  about  Jndiis  true  onongli.  By  Dives!  the 
devil  \ms  played  us  a  scurvy  trick  to-night"  ;  saying 
this  the  old  man  worked  his  toothless  jaws,  and 
clawed  the  air  with  his  skeleton  fingers  tipped  with 
long  yellow  nails. 

"  Cease  such  babbling,  you  drivelling  idiot,  and 
bind  up  the  wounds  of  Mars.  The  devil  will  get 
his  match  at  scurvy  tricks  when  he  piles  you  on  his 
roasting-heap." 

Having  said  this,  Capodiavolo  began  pacing  the 
mouldy  room,  frightening  by  his  angry  scowl  the 
playful  lizards  and  the  crawling  reptiles.  The  old 
man  brought  bandages  and  salve  and  dressed  the 
wounds  on  the  shoulder  of  Mars.  When  this  was 
done  Mars  began : 

"  Why  did  not  the  bell  of  the  Capitol  ring  out  the 
promised  signal  ?  Its  failure  marred  all  our  plans. 
Who  is  to  blame  for  this  ?" 

"  St.  Peter,  if  there  be  such  a  one.  The  guardian 
of  the  tower  accepted  our  offer  to  let  in  a  few  per- 
sons at  nightfall ;  they  entered,  for  I  saw  them,  but 
they  never  rang  the  bell ;  neither  did  they  return.'* 
Capodiavolo  looked  thoughtful  as  he  said  this. 

The  apparent  mystery  of  this  proceeding  is  easily 
explained.  The  guardian,  being  a  shrewd  man,  sus- 
pected that  the  offer  of  a  large  sum  for  access  to  the 
belfry  was  connected  with  the  plots  of  the  revolu- 
tionists. If  they  wished  to  ring  the  bell  as  a  sign 
of  rising,  it  would  be  well,  he  thought,  to  let  them 
imagine  that  they  could  give  this  signal,  otherwise 
they  might  prepare  another  one.  He  therefore 
promised  access  to  the  belfry,  pocketed  the  money, 


11 


260 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


\¥¥ 


m 


and  went  straight  to  the  Senator  of  Eome,  the  Mar- 
quis Cavaletti,  to  whom  he  made  known  the  whole 
affair.  A  few  soldiers  were  quietly  stationed  in  the 
belfry,  and  the  guardian  was  told  to  admit  the  revo- 
lutionists at  night.  They  entered,  and  instead  of 
ringing  they  were  handcuffed  and  led  off  to  prison. 
As  the  bell  did  not  ring  out,  the  conspirators  in  the 
various  parts  of  the  city  did  not  know  what  to  do; 
the  programme  was  spoijed  by  the  failure  of  the 
opening  act.  Only  Monti  and  Tognetti  and  Mars 
began  their  parts  ;  but  they,  too,  fell  far  short  of  all 
expectation. 

"  We  must  leave  Eome  at  once,"  said  Capodiavolo ; 
"  we  will  hasten  to  join  our  friends  without,  and  hurry 
them  on  to  the  assault.  Once  the  news  of  this  blow- 
ing-up business  reaches  France  the  ugly  crows  (i.e. 
the  clergy)  will  raise  a  noise  and  strive  to  force  a 
return  of  French  troops.  We  must  act  quickly ; 
we  must  storm  Monte  Rotondo  to-morrow  night ; 
entrench  ourselves  there,  and  then  pour  down  on 
Rome.  We  will  thus  arrive  here  before  any  French 
soldiers  can  land  at  Civita  Yecchia." 

Capodiavolo  was  good  at  planning;  he  had  a 
quick  perception,  a  powerful  mind,  and  an  unfeel- 
ing heart ;  but,  like  many  plotters  against  the 
Church,  he  forgot  that  she  is  a  Divine  institution 
overshadowed  and  protected  by  the  Almighty.  The 
action  of  Providence  in  favor  of  the  Church  did  not 
enter  into  his  calculations ;  consequently  they  were 
never  correct. 

The  trap-door  in  the  floor  of  the  room  was  raised ; 
a  small  boat  suspended  on  two  hooks  was  lowered. 


BURSTING  OF  THE  CLOUDS. 


261 


and  Capodiavolo  witli  the  wounded  Mars  silently 
dropped  aboard.  Trusting  to  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  for  the  moon  had  set,  and  to  the  confusion 
consequent  on  the  blowing  up  of  the  barracks  and 
tlie  assault  on  the  guard  at  the  Capitol,  Capodiavolo 
pushed  the  boat  out  into  the  stream  and  floated  down 
its  current.  His  object  was  to  quietly  make  his  exit 
from  the  city,  to  land  below  St.  Paul's,  and  then  to 
strike  across  the  country  in  a  northerly  direction  to- 
wards Monte-Rotondo.  "Wishing  him  a  prosperous 
voyage  and  breathing  curses  on  the  defenders  of 
Rome,  the  old  Jew  closed  the  trap,  and  turning 
i-Qund  found  himself  confronted  by  a  policeman  and 
two  Zouaves.  They  were  the  patrol  on  their  round, 
and  having  seen  traces  of  blood  near  the  door  had 
entered  just  as  the  boat  pushed  off.  The  old  Jew 
was  staggered,  but  only  for  an  instant ;  quickly  re- 
covering presence  of  mind  he  piped  out,  "  Hurrah 
for  the  Pope!  hurrah  for  the  brave  defenders  of 
Rome !" 

"  Peace,  old  hypocrite,"  sternly  began  the  police- 
man ;  "  we  know  your  loyalty.  What  were  you 
doing  just  now  with  the  floor  ?" 

"  Only  closing  the  cellar  hatchway,  noble  offi- 


cer 


V 


"  How  do  you  account  for  the  traces  of  blood  on 
your  door-step  and  in  the  front  room  ?" 

"  Why,  see,  noble  soldiers,"  whined  the  wily  old 
Jew,  "  I  was  out  buying  a  goat's  liver  from  Eben 
Ben  Albi  the  butcher;  I  do  so  love  goat's  liver 
chopped  in  my  maccaroni ;  the  blood  was  dripping 
from  it  as  I  came  along." 


atai 


if 


262 


AFTEK   WEARY   YEARS. 


,♦'  i'j 


-    h. 
r  7^  vi 


"  Wliere  is  the  liver  now  ?" 

"  In  the  cellar,  gallant  warriors ;  I  was  just  re- 
turning from  putting  it  away." 

The  two  Zouaves  looked  convinced ;  but  the 
policeman  who  had  good  reason  to  suspect  the  Jew 
merely  said : 

"  Open  the  hatches  ;  1  must  see  this  cellar." 

"Not  to-night ;  uut  in  the  dark;  it  is  damp  and 
mouldy.  Come  to-morrow  when  the  bright  sun  is 
shining;  old  Ezra  will  give  you  good  welcome." 

Without  making  jvny  answer  the  policeman  ad- 
vanced and  raised  the  trap ;  peering  down,  the 
truth  flashed  on  him. 

"  Why,  you  dog  of  a  Jew,  you  have  been  harbor- 
ing revolutionists,  and  have  sent  them  off  by  the 
water." 

In  vain  the  old  man  protested  his  innocence ;  an 
ill-closed  door  in  the  wall  was  opened,  and  several 
Orsini  bombs,  muskets,  and  cartridges  were  found. 
Denial  was  useless. 

"  To-morrow  morning  martial  law  will  be  pro- 
claimed," said  the  policeman,  "  and  it  will  go  hard 
with  you.  We  have  had  your  name  on  our  list  for 
a  long  time." 

The  old  man  was  taken  prisoner.  The  light  of 
the  policeman's  lamp  flashed  on  the  Zouaves  and  re- 
vealed the  faces  of  Morgan  and.  Lorenzo.  At  the 
sight  of  the  latter  the  old  man  started,  and  clutch- 
ing him  by  the  arm  said : 

"Are  you  Lorenzo  Aldini,  son  of  Giovanni?" 

"lam.     What  of  it?" 

"Only  this:  save  my  life  and  I  will   tell  you 


BURSTING  OF  THE  CLOUDS. 


263 


something  you  would  give  the  wealth  of  Rome  to 
know." 

"  What  can  you  tell  me  ?  What  do  you  know  of 
mo?" 

"Much,  very  much.  Giovanni  Aldini  knows 
nic ;  I  helped  him  once  in  a  matter  which  concerns 
you.  Get  your  comrades  to  set  me  free,  and  I  will 
tell  all." 

Lorenzo  looked  troubled.  His  father's  mysteri- 
ous words  about  some  injury  done  him  came  vividly 
to  his  remembrance.  Was  there  then  any  secret 
connected  with  his  history  ?  The  policeman,  who 
looked  upon  the  old  Jew  as  a  most  cunning  villain, 
thought  his  words  only  tended  to  some  deception, 
and  calmly  telling  him  that  "  probably  he  would  be 
shot  on  the  morrow,"  prepared  to  depart.  The  poor 
wretch  clasped  his  bony  lingers  and  murmured : 

'•  Let  me  go  and  I  will  give  you  money.  It  was 
Ciipodiavolo  who  forced  me  into  this.  Spare  my 
life  and  I  will  tell  you  all,  and  I  will  tell  this 
young  man  where  to  find  his  mother.  I  can  tell 
him—" 

A  crackling  of  musketry  was  heard  without ;  the 
three  soldiers  turned  towards  the  door.  Quick  as 
thought  the  old  Jew,  who  had  not  been  handcuffed, 
disappeared  by  the  open  trap-door.  A  slight  plash- 
ing in  the  water  first  drew  the  attention  of  the 
patrol  to  the  fact  of  his  disappearance.  They  gazed 
down  into  the  yellow  stream,  but  all  was  silent  save 
the  subdued  purring  sound  of  the  water  as  it  gently 
laved  a  jutting  bank.  He  was  gone ;  but  whether 
the  Tiber  had  closed  over  him  forever  or  had  only 


V..i 


PM.. 


I 


|i! 


264 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


borne  him  on  its  bosom  to  a  place  of  safety,  they 
could  not  determine. 

"  The  "Witch  of  Endor  could  not  have  eluded  us 
more  cleverly,"  said  the  policeman. 

It  may  here  be  remarked  for  the  benefit  of  those 
who  talk  about  the  "  ignorance"  of  the  Italiaiis,  tliat 
the  facts  of  Bible  history  are  as  familiar  to  them  as 
houseliold  words. 

Fastening  the  trap  and  locking  the  doors  they 
hurried  forth.  The  firing  had  been  heard  in  tlie 
direction  of  one  cf  the  gates  of  the  city  ;  the  guard 
had  fired  at  come  spies  who  quickly  retreated. 

The  old  Jew's  words  troubled  Lorenzo.  Was  his 
mother  alive  ?  Morgan  laughed  and  said  it  was  a 
trick  of  the  old  man's  to  gain  time ;  but  Lorenzo 
could  not  dismiss  the  subject  so  lightly.  The  stir- 
ring events  of  the  following  days  left  him  no  time 
for  reflection. 


CHAPTER  XVL 


MENTANA. 


Mounted  patrols  clatter  through  the  streets  of 
Rome  :  soldiers  with  fixed  bayonets  hurry  hither  and 
thither ;  -Teat  wain  loads  of  bags  filled  with  sand 
lumber  heavily  towards  the  gates  of  the  city. 
Troops  of  military  unload  them,  and  raise  up  a  for- 
tification at  each  side  of  the  entrance.  Few  civilians 
are  abroad,  and  those  that  are  pass  quickly  on  their 


MENTANA. 


265 


way  ;  the  cloud  of  dread  and  apprehension  has  grown 
darker  and  more  oppressive.     Military  law  has  been 
proclaimed,  and  the  oendarnies   have  lessened  the 
crowd  of   suspicions-looking  individuals  who  wore 
the  peculiarly  indented  hat,  seen  on  Mars  and  Cupid 
in  the  den  on  the  Aventine.     In  the  house  of  Ajani, 
already  mentioned  in  these  pages,  a  short  but  bloody 
encounter  hi\d  taken  place.     Over  fifty  revolutionists 
were  assembled  to  plot  against  the  government ;  they 
had  arms  and  bombs  in  abundance.     The  military 
made  a  descent  on  them,  when  a  sharp  engagement 
took  place ;  the  doors  were  soon  forced,  the  stairs 
taken  by  assault,  and  the  Pontifical  soldiers  were 
masters  of  the  place.     But  there  was  no  knowing 
how  many  such  arsenals  might  be  in  the  city ;  there 
was  no  telling  what  deeds  of  villany  might  be  per 
petrated  by  those  who  had  already  blown  up  ]iart  of 
a   barracks.     Hence   the   undefinal)le   dread  which 
seemed  rather  to  lurk  in  the  air  than  to  be  confined 
to  a  particular   spot.     To  retire    to    bed   with    the 
thought   that    perhaps    you    may   awake    hurtling 
through  the  air  with  the  fragments  of  your  dwelling, 
is  not,  it  may  be  presumed,  a  sleep-inviting  frame  of 
mind ;  to  rise  with    the  thought  that  perhaps  ere 
night  an  unbridled  mob  may  be  rioting  throngh  the 
city,  is  not,  for  a  certainty,  a  refreshing   cordial. 
Yet  such  was,  for  many,  life  in  Rome  during  the 
last  days  of  October,  18G7. 

Day  by  day  the  bands  increased  in  the  Province?. 

Monte-Kotondo  was  besieged  on  the  23d.     It  is  a 

city  built,  as  ite  name  denotes,  on  a  round  mountain, 

about  fifteen  miles  from  Kome,  and  can  be  reached 

12 


1^1 


i«ti 


5> 


\l 


ft 


266 


AFTER  WEARY  TEARS. 


from  the  latter  city  by  the  Nomentana  and  Salara 
Ways.  It  had  only  a  small  garrison  of  about  one  hun- 
dred and  eighty  men  with  one  piece  of  old  can- 
non. It  was  assaulted  by  over  two  thousand  Garibal- 
dians,  amongst  whom  Garibaldi  himself  appeared. 
For  nearly  two  days  the  heroic  little  band  of  Pontifical 
soldiers  sustained  the  unequal  combat ;  the  old  can- 
non was  hauled  rapidly  from  point  to  point,  and  so 
cleverly  used  that  the  enemy  imagined  there  was  a 
whole  park  of  artillery.  Assault  after  assault  was 
made  and  repulsed ;  the  brave  sons  of  France — for 
many  of  the  defenders  belonged  to  the  "  Frencli 
Legion" — performed  acts  of  valor  worthy  of  the  de- 
scend mts  of  the  knights  who  fought  under  St.  Louis. 
Their  national  courage  joined  to  the  love  of  St. 
Peter's  Chair  made  tiiem  heroes  to  a  man.  Worn 
out  after  thirty-six  hours  of  incessant  fighting,  their 
old  cannon  at  length  become  useless,  and  the  enemy 
ever  increasing  in  numbers  as  fresh  bands  arrived, 
their-  cise  indeed  seemed  desperate.  A  dense  mass 
is  seen  moving  up  the  road  to  the  gate ;  it  is  fired 
upon  but  without  effect ;  it  steadily  advances.  By 
the  light  of  flickering  torches  they  see  that  it  is  great 
car-loads  of  faggots  pushed  from  behind.  It  is  use- 
less to  waste  powder ;  they  can  only  await  the  devel- 
opment. The  cars  are  pushed  up  to  the  gate,  piled 
around  it,  and  set  on  fire.  Now  the  flames  roar  and 
crackle  as  the  dry  wood  sends  up  great  tongues  of 
lurid  red ;  now  the  Garibaldians  shout  as  the  great 
gate  swells  and  cracks  ;  higher  yet,  and  ever  higher, 
rise  the  flames,  roaring  as  if  in  triumph.  A  demon 
figure  leaps  wildly  around  the  cars  piling  on  fresli 


ME^TANA. 


267 


faggots  ;  his  evil  eyes,  lighted  as  with  a  glow  from 
hellj  reveal  Capodiavolo.  Fifty  muskets  are  aimed 
at  liim,  but  with  a  hoarse  shout  he  still  leaps  round 
the  glowing  flames.  Well  might  a  soldier  mutter: 
''  He  must  be  the  devil  himself,"  as  he  saw  the  savage 
glare  of  the  dancing  demons  in  his  eyes. 

The  gate  totters  on  its  hinges,  and  drops  in  a  hun- 
dred glowing  fragments ;  a  wild  yell  bursts  from  the 
infuriated  hordes  as  Garibaldi  cries,  '"  Rome  or 
I'eu'M  On  to  the  assault!"  A  rush,  a  loud  shout, 
and  the  burned  gate  is  reached.  Capodiavolo  leaps 
over  it,  followed  by  several  others.  A  volley  from 
l!m.  Pontifical  troops  causes  several  to  fall  in  the 
li.e  and  to  suffer,  by  anticipation,  some  of  the  pains 
of  hell.  But  others  press  on  ere  the  defenders  can 
reload,  and  soon  the  place  swarms  with  the  Garihal- 
dians.  Step  by  step  the  ground  is  contested  ;  the  sol- 
diers gradually  retiring  tb  the  fort.  The  town  is  in 
the  hands  of  the  Garibaldians,  but  the  soldiers  hold 
the  fort.  Summoned  to  surrender,  they  indignantly 
refuse.  Yet  what  can  valor  now  avail  ?  They  are 
doomed  ;  they  know  it ;  but  can  they  lower  the  Papal 
flag  before  this  revolutionary  horde?  Their  noble 
hearts  revolt  at  the  thought.  They  are  now  reduced 
in  number,  spent  by  fatigue,  short  of  ammunition, 
and  surrounded  by  bands  exasperated  by  their  fear- 
ful loss — for  truly  fearful  it  was. 

From  behind,  the  enemy  undermined  the  castle 
or  fort,  and  placing  powder  beneath  it,  called  on 
them  to  lay  down  their  arms  or  they  would  be  blown 
up.  The  commanding  officer  states  the  case  to  the 
men  and  asks  their  opinion.     "  Let  them  blow  it 


irati 


)» 

"H 


S5! 


268 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


Ml 


,J^ 


up,"  is  the  unanimous  reply  ;' "  we  will  make  a  sortie 
and  die  sword  in  hand."  But  now  a  venerable  priest 
comes  into  the  apartment ;  he  is  the  minister  of  a 
God  of  Peace.  They  have  proved  themselves  heroes ; 
they  have  done  all  mortal  man  could  do ;  further 
resistance  is  useless ;  lives  are  not  to  be  needlessly 
thrown  away.  In  all  honor  they  can  now  lay  down 
their  arms  and  live  to  fight  for  the  Pope  instead  of 
rushing  on  to  a  foolish  butchery.  True  courage 
is  a  reasonable  act  not  a  blind  impulse. 

With  such  words  as  these  the  generous  souls  of 
that  gallant  little  garrison  were  moved,  and  consented 
to  surrender  ;  but  they  first  broke  their  swords  and 
rendered  useless  their  rifles.  When  they  defiled  out 
on  the  square  Garibaldi  looked  puzzled  ;  he  gazed 
first  on  them,  then  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  castle 
as  if  looking  for  the  appearance  of  others.  Seeing 
no  more  advancing  he  said  : 

"  Where  is  the  rest  of  the  garrison  ?" 

Being  told  that  the  whole  garrison  was  present, 
he  was  astonished.  He  and  his  followers  could 
scarcely  believe  that  it  was  this  handful  of  men, 
with  one  old  cannon,  that  had  kept  his  thousands  at 
bay  for  nearly  two  days.  However,  he  had  sense 
enough  to  compliment  highly  the  bravery  of  the 
soldiers.  Even  Capodiavolo  felt  a  faint  sensation  of 
respect  for  the  worn  and  famished  prisoners.  {Sin- 
cerely did  he  wish  that  his  bands  were  of  equal 
bravery. 

Tliis  unlooked-for  check  in  taking  Monte-Roton- 
do  frustrated  the  schemes  of  the  raiders.  They 
should  have  been  under  the  walls  of  Rome  twenty- 


MENTANA. 


269 


four  hours  previously,  to  co-operate  with  their 
friends  inside.  Now  they  were  disorganized  after 
tlieir  heavy  losses,  and  felt  that  it  would  ])e  mad- 
ness to  go  forward  for  several  days  at  least.  They 
must  recruit  more  bands,  fortify  their  position,  and 
obtain  fresh  supplies  of  ammunition  and  guns.  The 
heroic  resistance  of  Monte-Iiotondo  had  taught  them 
what  they  might  expect  under  the  walls  of  Rome ; 
the  bombastic  cry  of  "  E-ome  or  Death  !"  was  easily 
uttered ;  but  it  would  not  conquer  Christian  heroes. 
A  delay  of  several  days  was  necessary  before  they 
could  march ;  that  delay,  under  God,  saved  Rome 
from  many  horrors.  The  revolutionists  within  the 
city,  disappointed  at  the  non-arrival  of  their  allies 
without,  were  disheartened  ;  and  the  active  measures 
of  the  military  authorities,  after  the  proclamation  of 
martial  law,  effectually  quelled  the  turbulent. 

But  these  things  were  unknown  at  the  time ;  the 
providence  of  God  was  working  out  the  safety  of 
the  Capital,  but  mortals  could  not  comprehend  its 
plans.  They  only  knew  that  Monto-Rotondo  had 
fallen,  that  new  bands  were  ])ouring  in,  and  there 
was  a  rumor  of  a  threatened  invasion  of  regular 
troops.  In  this  state  of  affairs.  General  Kanzler, 
Pro-minister  of  War,  advised  the  Pope  to  withdraw 
the  soldiers  from  the  Provinces  and  to  concentrate 
them  on  Rome.  It  was  a  grave  measure  but  a 
prudent  one.  Each  small  garrison  could  do  no  more 
than  offer  an  heroic  resistance,  and  be  iinally  over- 
powered. By  concentrating  all  the  troops  on  Rome 
it  could  be  held  against  irregular  bands.  The  re- 
oall  was  effected  on  the  27th  of  October,  and  served 


% 
^ 


270 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


to  increase  the  general  feeling  of  uneasiness.  Dur- 
ing these  dreary  days  of  anxiety  the  conduct  of  tlie 
troops  was  admirable ;  they  woi-ked  incessantly ; 
they  remained  out  overnight  and  suffered  many 
privations,  but  cheerfully  bore  them  all.  The  Vol- 
unteers under  Prince  Lancellotti  rendered  excellent 
service;  so  did  the  Civic  Guard.  The  citizens  were 
anxious,  it  is  true ;  still  they  had  confidence  in  the 
heroism  of  the  little  army.  They  were  trying  days, 
those  last  ones  of  October,  and  few,  if  any,  failed  in 
duty. 

Meanwhile  the  outside  world  was  busy  with  the 
state  of  the  Eternal  City.  The  news  of  the  sacri- 
legious invasion  of  the  States  of  the  Church  spread 
over  the  Peninsula  and  Europe,  exciting  every- 
where the  indignation  of  Catholics.  It  bounded 
across  the  broad  Atlantic  and  moved  the  generous 
hearts  of  Canada's  noble  sons.  The  descendants  of 
the  sons  of  France  who  quit  their  country  before  the 
mad  revolution  of  1789,  were  aroused  to  action  in 
defence  of  Holy  Church.  So,  too,  were  Catho- 
lics in  other  parts ;  but  they  would  arrive  too  late. 
One  human  hope  alone  remained  for  Rome;  it  was 
France,  eldest  daughter  of  the  Church  ;  and  then,  as 
ever,  France  was  true  to  her  trust.  The  heart  and 
pulse  of  that  glorious  nation  beat,  and  still  beats,  in 
unison  with  Rome.  At  times  its  government  has 
deflected  from  the  course  prescribed  by  Clodoveus, 
Charlemagne,  and  St.  Louis,  but  the  instincts  of  the 
nation  pointed  aright.  A  wild  upheaving  of  the 
social  elements  startled  the  world  in  the  last  cen- 
tury ;  it  was  a  typhoon  engendered  in  hell  and  sent 


MENTANA. 


271 


forth  to  blast  the  fair  aspect  of  France.  It  passed 
away,  and  the  heart  and  pulse  of  the  nation  resumed 
their  normal  action.  Great  when  following  lier 
Catholic  instincts,  and  humbled  only  when  disre- 
garding them,  her  history  proves  her  to  be  the 
chosen  arm  of  God's  Church. 

The  news  of  the  sad  state  of  the  Roman  Pro- 
vinces, the  knowledge  of  the  cowardly  blowing-up  of 
the  barracks,  roused  the  French  people  and  clergy  to 
vigorous  action.  Foremost  in  the  ranks  stood  the 
eloquent  Bishop  of  Orleans,  Monseigneur  Dupan- 
loup.  History  will  encircle  his  name  with  a  halo  of 
s^\ory  for  his  defence  of  Rome.  Napoleon  at  length 
sent  the  order  to  the  transport  -ships,  already  pre- 
pared at  Toulon,  to  set  sail.  Swiftly  they  ploughed 
the  blue  waters  of  the  Mediterranean,  but  not  swift 
enough  to  satisfy  the  longing  desires  of  the  French 
nation.  They  disembarked  at  Civita  Yecchia,  and 
under  the  command  of  General  Count  de  Failly  they 
arrived  in  Rome  during  the  last  days  of  October. 
The  well-remembered  rat-tat  of  the  French  drums, 
the  unforgotten  sound  of  their  trumpets  fell  joy- 
fully on  the  ears  of  the  citizens  on  the  morning  of 
October  30.  The  £rlad  sio:ht  of  their  martial  ranks 
arrayed  in  red  trousers,  white  buskins,  and  blue 
jackets,  brought  a  sense  of  security  to  every  heart, 
and  dispelled  the  gloomy  cloud  of  undefinable 
dread. 


Rat-tat-tat !  Drums  are  beating,  horses  prancing, 
bugles  resounding,  and  columns  of  troops  tramping 
heavily  along  the  streets.     Rat-tat-tat !     How  they 


mw 


272 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


t^:!!l 


cleave  the  still  air  and  startle  the  rooks  from  many 
a  moss-covered  tower.  ]>ehiiid  them  comes  a  rum- 
bling, thundering  sound  wliich  shakes  the  sleepers 
in  their  beds ;  it  is  the  ])assing  of  heavy  pieces 
of  artillery.  Rat-tat-tat !  The  air  seems  filled 
with  tiie  endless  sound  which  breaks  loudly  on  the 
ear  just  at  the  moment  in  which  one  thinks  that 
it  is  dying  away.  It  is  not  yet  four  o'clock  on  the 
morning  of  November  3d,  yet  all  this  noise  and  bustle 
is  rending  the  cold  atmosphere.  It  is  the  prelude 
to  a  glorious  victory  ;  it  is  the  ushering  in  of  a  day 
which  will  crown  the  Pontifical  army  with  the 
laurels  of  a  victory  bravely  won,  and  which  will 
strike  terror  into  the  revolutionists  of  Europe,  and 
make  them  curse  this  day  and  endeavor  in  prose 
and  verse,  in  English,  French,  and  Italian  to  distort 
its  history ;  it  is  the  morning  of  the  battle  of  Men- 
tana. 

The  brilliancy  of  a  victory  is  not  to  be  sought  for 
in  the  numbers  engaged,  but  in  the  difiiculties  over- 
come; the  bravery  of  a  soldier  is  not  to  be  gauged 
by  the  absolute  number  killed,  but  by  the  dangers 
boldly  confronted.  There  is  much  greater  room 
for  personal  bravery  in  a  fight  between  one  hundred 
on  each  side  than  in  a  battle  between  hundreds  of 
thousands.  The  defence  of  the  pass  of  Thermopy- 
lae is  not  celebrated  for  the  number  of  its  defenders, 
but  for  their  heroic  resistance.  In  this  way  Men- 
tana  can  claim  a  place  with  Austerlitz,  Waterloo,  or 
Gravelotte. 

Monte-Kotondo  had  now  been  nine  days  under 
the  Garibaldian'raiders ;  they  had  entrenched  them- 


MENTANA. 


273 


selves  in  favorable  positions  on  the  neighboring  hills, 
especially  at  Montana,  a  small  village  on  the  slope 
towards  Rome.  Their  numl)ers,  as  was  subsequently 
learned  from  the  number  of  rifles  taken,  and  also 
from  the  prisoners,  wounded  and  dead,  must  have 
been  over  ten  thousand.  Garibaldi  himself  was 
there  to  utter  his  frenzied  cry  of  "  Rome  or  Death  "; 
so,  too,  was  his  son  Menotti  as  well  as  all  the  leading 
spirits  of  the  revolution.  Well  provided  with 
arms,  well  encamped,  and  thoroughly  rested  and 
recruited,  they  had  good  reason  to  hope  to  make  a 
formidable  resistance. 

To  put  an  end  at  once  to  the  disturbance  and 
to  restore  order  in  the  Provinces,  General  Kanz- 
ler  resolved  to  march  against  the  Garibaldians  on 
the  3d  of  November.  General  Failly  hearing  of 
the  design  wished  to  send  a  column  of  French 
troops  to  support  him,  if  necessary,  and  to  give 
France  a  share  in  the  task  of  freeing  the  Roman 
States.  Accordingly  a  column  of  Pontifical  troops 
numbering  2913  men  of  various  arms,  of  whom 
1500  were  zouaves,  and  a  column  of  French  of 
nearly  2000,  were  got  ready.  General  Count  de 
Courten  commanded  the  former,  and  Brigadier- 
General  Baron  de  Polhes  the  latter.*  At  four 
o'clock  A.M.  they  passed  out  by  Porta  Pia  and 
wound  along  the  Nomentana  Way  to  the  bridge  of 
that  name.     After  crossing  the  bridge  three  com- 


*  These  figures  and  names,  as  well  as  much  of  the  following 
narrative,  are  founded  on  the  official  report  made  by  General 


Kanzler,   Pro-minister  of  War,   who 
chief  of  the  expedition,  to  the  Pope. 
12* 


had  the  command  in 


JlH 


I* 


274 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


panics  of  zouaves  under  Major  Troussures  were 
sent  by  the  Salara  Way  to  create  a  diversion  on  tlie 
western  side  of  Montana,  while  the  main  body 
would  advance  on  the  eastern. 

About  niiddav,  at  a  distance  of  about  four  miles 
from  Montana,  the  first  Garibaldian  entrenchments 
were  met.  They  were  favorably  located  on  a  heii^lit 
which  commanded  the  line  of  marcli  of  the  Pontili- 
cal  troops.  The  advance-guard  consisted  of  a  squad 
of  cavalry,  three  companies  of  zouaves,  and  a  section 
of  artillery.  Morgan  and  Lorenzo  were  among 
these  zouaves.  It  was  the  long-expected  moment  of 
encounter ;  now  was  the  time  to  prove  devotion  to 
the  See  of  Peter.  Every  soldier  felt  it,  and  without 
hesitation  the  zouaves  charged  right  at  the  entrench- 
ment. No  time  for  shots ;  forward  they  dashed  up 
the  slopes  regardless  of  the  flying  bullets  which 
whistled  around  their  heads.  Morgan  seemed  to  bo 
scaling  again  the  cliffs  by  the  St.  Lawrence  in  the 
wild  freedom  of  a  college  holiday.  Even  then  Lo- 
renzo as  he  raced  near  him  proved  true  to  his  nature 
by  exclaiming, "  This  is  more  exciting  than  donkey- 
ridinc:  over  the  hills."  The  whole  reojiment  of 
zouaves  was  soon  engaged  in  the  attack ;  investing 
the  place  with  drawn  steel  the  enemy  was  soon 
compelled  to  retreat  higher  up  the  hills  towards 
Montana.  Al  aost  in  the  first  moment  of  attack 
death  claimed  a  noble  victim  :  Captain  de  Yeaux,  at 
the  head  of  his  company,  was  pierced  to  the  heart, 
and  fell  a  glorious  champion  of  justice.  A  battalion 
of  the  German  sharpshooters  and  two  companies  of 
the  French  Legion  took  part  in  this  brilliant  assault. 


MENTANA. 


276 


Every  advantage  of  number  and  position  was  on  the 
side  of  the  enemy,  but  the  rapid  charge  of  the  zou- 
aves with  the  bayonet  threw  consternation  into  their 
ranks.  They  were  quickly  driven  in  disorder  from 
this  first  entrenchment,  Imt  tliey  re-formed  in  a  more 
formidable  one,  in  the  walled  enclosure  of  the  San- 
tucci  vineyard. 

The  enemy's  situation  was  now  such  as  might 
dishearten  a  brave  army :  tlie  rugged  brow  of  the 
broken  range  of  hills  was  difficult  of  ascent  even 
with  no  hostile  encampment  on  its  summit.  Tlie 
strong  walls  of  Italian  masonry  which  surrounded 
the  vineyard  were  proof  against  rifle  bullets,  and 
would  render  comparatively  harmless  balls  from 
light  field  cannon.  The  buildings  within  the  enclo- 
sure were  likewise  of  solid  masonry,  and  were  equal 
to  covered  forts.  Add  to  this  that  three  quarters  of 
a  mile  distant  the  Castle  of  Montana  was  occupied 
by  the  foe  and  provided  with  cannon  which  could 
sweep  the  rugged  ascent  to  the  Villa  Santucci. 
Higher  up  still  stood  Monte-Rotondo,  the  enemy's 
headquarters,  from  which  every  movement  of  the 
Pontifical  troops  could  be  seen,  and  from  which  re- 
serves could  be  speedily  sent  down  to  any  required 
point.  If  this  formidable  position  of  the  enemy  be 
borne  in  mind,  and  also  the  fact  that  not  until  long 
after  did  the  French  troops  fire  a  shot,  it  will  easily 
be  seen  that  the  assault  on  Villa  Santucci  was  as 
daring  and  as  brilliant  an  attack  as  that  of  the 
Guards  at  Waterloo,  or  of  the  French  on  the  Mala- 
koff. 

Scarcely  had  the  Garibaldians  time  to  form  them- 


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WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

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AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


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selves  in  their  favorable  locality  when  they  were 
called  upon  to  defend  it.  The  gallant  soldiers  who 
fought  for  St.  Peter's  Chair  did  not  stop  to  compute 
numbers  nor  to  weigh  the  difficulties  of  the  situa- 
tion. They  were  face  to  face  with  the  impious  rev- 
olution which  had  striven  to  overthrow  the  Pontifi- 
cal tlirone,  and  they  were  resolved  to  crush  it.  This 
was  their  thought.  They  knew  there  was  danger ; 
iliey  knew  that  many  a  life-tide  would  ebb  away 
into  the  ocean  of  eternity  on  that  hillside.  But 
what  reek  they  of  this  ?  He  of  them  who  falls  will 
fall  a  glorious  champion  in  the  cause  of  Right  and 
will  receive  the  martyr's  crown  at  the  hands  of  wel- 
coming angels;  he  who  lives  will,  in  some  respects, 
be  more  unfortunate  than  he  who  dies ;  but  he  will 
be  the  chosen  avenger  of  outraged  justice.  They, 
too,  can  cry,  "  Rome  or  Death !"  but  in  a  different 
sense  from  that  in  which  it  is  shouted  by  their  ene- 
mies— they  will  fight  to  the  death  for  the  liberty 
of  Rome. 

These  are  the  thoughts  which  animate  every  heart 
and  nerve  every  arm  to  the  deeds  of  heroes.  As  the 
lines  of  attack  on  Yilla  Santucci  are  quickly  form- 
ing, an  officer  gallops  to  the  front.  His  noble 
bearing,  his  fine  military  figure  and  his  flashing  eye 
proclaim  him  the  worthy  descendant  of  the  great 
Vandean  chief.  It  -is  Colonel  de  Charette.  The 
loyal  blood  of  his  grandfather  courses  pure  and  un- 
degenerate  through  his  veins,  the  faith  of  liis  sires 
burns  undimmed  in  his  soul  and  lights  up  his 
countenance  with  a  glow  of  splendor.  Turning  to 
his  well-loved  zouaves,  who  recognize  in  him  a  leader 


■■■ 


■t 


MENTANA. 


277 


worthy  of  their  valor,   he  says,   unsheathing  his 
sword : 
"  I    need    not   encourage 


you; 


the 


enemy 


of 


Holy  Church  is  before  you.  Your  lines  are  ready  ? 
Yes.  Suivez  moi,  nres  enfants.  En  avant !  Dieu 
et  Pie  IX. !"  ("  Follow  me,  my  children.  Forward  ! 
God  and  Pius  IX. !") 

"  En  avant !  Dieu  et  Pie  IX. !"  shouted  the  noble 
Vandean.  "  En  avant !  Dieu  et  Pie  IX. !"  re-echoed 
the  impatient  line  of  zouaves.  Off  they  dash 
quickly,  almost  wildly,  but  in  perfect  order.  Ahead 
of  them  all  rides  Charette,  a  conspicuous  mark  for 
the  enemy's  rifles.  He  told  his  men  to  follow  him, 
and  he  is  resolved  to  set  them  an  example  wortliy 
of  imitation.  On  they  rush  over  the  broken  level 
and  then  up  the  rugged  slope.  It  was  a  grand  sight 
to  see  the  prancing  steed  of  Charette  glorying,  as 
it  would  appear,  in  the  din  and  turmoil,  bearing 
proudly  onward  his  dauntless  master;  to  see  the 
noble  figure  and  flashing  sword  of  the  leader 
rushing  upward  and  onward ;  to  see  the  sym- 
metrical lines  of  the  zouaves  racing  hotly  in  the 
steps  of  their  Colonel.  If  there  be  one  moment 
of  glory  more  proud  than  another  in  the  life  of  a 
gallant  warrior,  it  must  surely  be  such  a  one  as  this, 
when  a  worthy  leader  in  a  just  cause  is  followed  by 
worthy  soldiers.  Posted  on  a  hill  of  observation 
the  French  troops  witnessed  with  admiration  this 
charge.  Veterans  of  the  Crimea,  Algiers,  and  Ma- 
genta looked  on  ir  silent  awe.  The  enemy,  too, 
appeared  paralyzed  by  the  grand  rush  that  was  be- 
ing made  towards  their  entrenchment,  but  only  for 


t  J 


278 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


a  moment.  Upward  and  onward  press  the  Christ- 
ian knights ;  their  guns  firmly  clasped  in  the  position 
of  a  charge,  their  bayonets  glinting  in  the  subdued 
light  of  a  November  sun.  How  they  leap  from 
mound  to  hillock ;  how  they  clear  the  low  brush- 
wood ;  how  they  bound  up  the  craggy  ridge.  "  En 
avant !  Dieu  et  Pie  IX. !"  There  must  be  a  secret 
power  in  those  words,  for  each  time  that  they  are 
uttered  by  the  gallant  Charette  and  re-echoed  by  Ir's 
ardent  followers,  their  leap  is  longer,  their  step 
more  elastic,  their  bound  more  swift. 

Upward  and  onward  !  How  the  fiery  steed  cur- 
vets and  fiercely  champs  the  bit ;  how  the  soldiers 
spring  up  the  rocky  height !  God  grant  that  the 
noble  Yandean  may  one  day,  if  force  will  have  to 
be  employed,  lead  a  similar  assault  with  more  fol- 
lowers, against  the  usurpers  of  Rome;  and  may 
God  grant  that,  if  that  day  has  to  come,  we  may  be 
worthy  to  render  some  assistance.  If  we  may  not 
unsheath  the  sword  of  the  flesh,  we  may  at  least  en- 
courage the  living  and  comfort  the  dying. 

Upward  and  onward !  They  have  issued  from 
the  shelter  of  their  artillery,  and  are  now  exposed 
to  the  rifles  in  Villa  Santucci,  the  guns  in  the  Castle 
of  Montana,  and  the  cannon  on  the  neighboring 
heights.  As  yet  no  sound  save  the  soul-stirring  cry 
of  "  Dieu  et  Pie  IX. !"  and  the  rushing  tramp  of  the 
columns  has  been  heard.  But  now  the  hoarse  roar 
of  the  cannon,  the  sharp  crackling  of  the  rifles,  and 
the  whizzing  of  flying  shells,  proclaim  that  the  en- 
emy have  awakened  from  their  trance  of  admiration 
to  a  sense  of  danger.    Crash  and  roar  ^nd  sharp 


^f^pil 


MENTANA. 


279 


report  succeed  with  deafening  monotony.  J^ow, 
indeed,  the  zouaves  have  need  to  nerve  themselves 
with  the  cry  "Dieu  et  Pie  IX.,"  for  the  bullets 
tear  the  agitated  air,  shells  burst  on  every  side,  and 
huge  leaden  balls  strike  the  ground  and  ricochet 
wildly  among  their  ranks.  No  wavering  however ; 
upward  and  onward  they  fly !  The  French  soldiers 
in  the  distance  frantically  shout  with  admiration, 
and  seem,  for  a  moment,  to  forget  military  disci- 
pline. 

Volley  after  volley  is  poured  right  into  the  teeth 
of  the  advancing  columns;  Charette's  horse  makes 
one  mad  plunge,  and  horse  and  rider  roll  in  the  dust. 
A.  shout  of  triumph  goes  up  from  the  enemy  in 
Villa  Santucci;  an  expression  of  horror  from  the 
Pontitical  reserves.  As  their  leader  goes  down,  the 
zouaves  quicken  their  pace  to  help  him  rise  or  to 
more  quickly  avenge  his  death.  But  ere  they  reach 
the  spot  the  gallant  Charette,  covered  with  dust,  is 
on  his  feet,  and  waving  on  high  his  sword,  shouts, 
"  En  avant !  Dieu  et  Pie  IX.  !"  Then  he  dashes 
forward  on  foot,  still  leading  his  loved  zouaves. 
"En  avant!  Dieu  et  Pie  IX. !"  is  the  glad  response 
of  the  men,  as  they  And  liim  unhurt.  Three  balls 
had  entered  the  body  of  his  favorite  war-horse  but 
he  himself  was  untouched. 

Upward  and  onward !  Now  they  have  reached 
the  Villa ;  the  shots  of  the  enemy  cease  as  they  are 
obliged  to  defend  themselves  at  the  point  of  the 
bayonet.  Hand  to  hand  now  the  battle  rages ;  the 
artillery  on  both  sides  is  silent,  for  each  is  afraid  of 
injuring  its  own  men.    Swords  clash,  bayonets  rattle, 


:W" 


«li 


imii 


280 


AFTER  WBABY  YEARS. 


guns  resound  as  they  meet  in  tierce  parrying  strokes. 
The  vine-trails  are  broken  and  stained,  not  with  the 
rich  juice  of  their  own  grapes,  but  with  the  purple 
gore  of  the  combatants.  The  wounded  and  dying 
groan  in  their  agony ;  but  high  above  every  sound 
rises  the  cry,  "  En  avnnt !  Dieu  et  Pie  IX. !"  It  is 
heard  where  the  fight  is  thickest,  and  the  secret 
power  of  the  words  bring  a  speedy  victory. 

Long  odds  are  against  the  zouaves,  but  naught 
can  delay  their  onward  course.  Back  from  hillock 
to  hillock,  from  olive  grove  to  vine-covered  walk, 
the  enemy  is  driven.  "  En  avant !  Dieu  et  Pie  IX. !" 
resounds  near  the  strong  old  building,  and  with  a 
mad  rush  the  zouaves  break  in  its  doors  and  van- 
quish its  defenders.  The  fight  was  short  but  fierce ; 
in  a  little  time  the  height  of  the  Villa  was  gained, 
and  the  enemy  seeking  new  positions.  That  bril- 
liant charge  was  successfully  over,  but  the  field  was 
not  yet  won. 

Some  noble  victims  fell  in  that  terrible  onslaught ; 
eternal  rest  to  their  souls;  enduring  reverence  to 
their  memory.  More  powerful  pens  will  chronicle 
their  deeds.  But  Canada's  sons  deserve  a  passing 
notice.  We  will  speak  of  Morgan  Leahy  further 
on.  Alfred  Laroque  was  in  the  grand  charge ;  he 
received  a  severe  wound,  and  watered  with  the 
blood  of  a  noble  son  of  our  Dominion  the  plains  of 
Mentana.  Should  those  lines  ever  meet  his  eye,  we 
ask  him  to  pardon  our  little  notice  of  his  deeds ;  we 
wish  to  follow  merely  the  general  outline  of  these 
events  and  the  adventures  of  our  heroes.  We  bow 
to  him  who  has  shed  his  blood  in  so  holy  a  cause. 


MENTANA. 


281 


and  pray  that  when  the  time  for  a  Catholic  Crusade 
shall  come,  which  come  it  will  if  we  mean  to  defend 
onr  sacred  rights,  our  young  Dominion  may  furnish 
many  such  as  he.  Another  name  embalmed  in  the 
fond  remembrance  of  Canadians  occurs — it  is  that 
of  Captain  Murray.  During  the  stormy  period  of 
which  we  write,  and  later  on,  he  did  his  duty  like  a 
man,  and  gave  great  promise  of  fighting  the  coming 
battle  for  Catholic  rights.  But  on  the  ramparts  of 
a  Spanish  town,  warring  for  Don  Carlos  whom  he 
believed  to  be  in  the  right,  his  life  went  out  in  a 
noontide  light  of  military  glory. 

The  heights  of  Villa  Santucci  having  been  con- 
quered, some  artillery  was  planted  so  as  to  bear  on 
the  Castle  of  Mentana.  Charette,  mounted  on  a  horse 
which  some  of  his  men  had  captured,  still  gave  forth 
his  cry  of  "  En  avant !  Dieu  et  Pie  IX. !"  The  Pon- 
tifical troops  of  every  description  pressed  on  from 
the  heights  of  Villa  Santucci  towards  Mentana. 
They  had  numbered  scarcely  three  thousand  at 
first ;  some  had  been  killed,  many  disabled  ;  more- 
over they  had  to  disperse  over  a  wide  tract  of  coun- 
try to  cut  off,  if  possible,  communication  between 
Mentana  and  Monte-Rotondo.  Hence  the  columns 
which  advanced  on  the  enemy's  new  position  were 
numerically  weak.  Two  strong  columns  of  the 
Garibaldian  reserves  were  now  hurried  forward  to 
attack  both  flanks  of  the  Pontifical  army.  A  bat- 
talion of  German  sharpshooters  which  had  pushed 
itself  close  to  Mentana  was  caught  between  two 
fires,  and  suffered  heavily;  but  they  courageously 
maintained  their  posts. 


i^i 


:S/:*J 


282 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


It  was  now  three  o'clock;  the  short  November 
day  would  soon  come  to  an  end.  Both  sides  felt 
the  importance  of  making  one  final  effort.  All  the 
Pontifical  reserves,  with  the  exception  of  a  few,  had 
been  ordered  up  ;  the  enemy  had  still  plenty.  Two 
dark  columns  moved  out  from  Montana  and  spread 
out  like  the  wings  of  a  huge  vulture  on  each  side 
of  the  Pope's  soldiers.  General  Kanzler  did  not 
doubt  the  courage  of  his  men ;  he  knew  that  they 
would  rush  against  all  odds  to  the  cry  of  "  Dieu  et 
Pie  IX.";  but  they  had  left  Rome  at  4  o'clock  a.m., 
had  marched  fifteen  miles,  and  had  fought  for 
hours.  Moreover  night  would  soon  be  on,  and  it 
would  be  well  to  put  an  end  to  the  battle  at  once. 
The  Pontifical  troops  had  done  enough  to  wreathe 
their  banner  with  undying  fame ;  there  was  no 
policy  in  exposing  them  to  unnecessary  danger  or 
in  excluding  their  French  allies  from  a  share  in  the 
active  duties  of  the  day. 

Moved  by  these  considerations.  General  Kanzler 
invited  General  de  Polhes  to  support  both  wings  of 
his  little  army.  The  French  soldiers,  who  had 
chafed  and  fretted  under  their  orders  not  to  stir 
until  invited,  were  quickly  formed  in  line.  With 
all  their  historic  ardor  they  threw  themselves  on  the 
advancing  columns  of  the  enemy's  reserves,  and 
when  within  good  range  opened  such  a  terrific  fire 
as  never  before  had  been  heard  on  Italian  plains. 
It  was  not  the  usual  volley,  first  of  one  line,  then 
of  another  ;  it  was  a  continuous  crackling,  as  if  ten 
thousand  men  were  advancing  instead  of  a  thousand. 
It  was  the  murderous  fire  of  the  Chassepot  rifie,  the 


MENTANA. 


283 


first  time  it  was  ever  employed  in  battle.  Colonel 
Fremont  on  one  wing  quickly  beat  back  the  Gari- 
baldian  column,  entered  Mentana,  and  would  have 
reached  Monte-Rotondo  before  the  retreating  enemy, 
had  lie  not  thought  himself  too  isolated  from  the 
rest  of  the  force.  Lieutenant-Colonel  Saussier  ef- 
fected a  similar  movement  on  the  other  wing,  and 
gallantly  opened  on  1500  of  the  enemy  who  were 
on  the  heights  of  Monte-Rotondo.  Just  then  the 
three  companies  of  zouaves,  which  had  been  sent 
along  the  SalaraWay  under  Major  Troussures,  came 
up ;  desirous  of  doing  their  share,  they  deployed 
with  such  agility  and  charged  so  bravely  that  they 
paralyzed  the  movements  of  the  Garibaldians  of  the 
right  wing.  These  three  companies  even  entered 
Mentana,  took  some  prisoners,  and  crossing  the 
whole  line  of  the  enemy  encamped  on  the  extreme 
right.  Cavalry,  infantry,  and  artillery,  all  with 
equal  courage  advanced,  and  by  nightfall,  Mentana 
was  girded  by  a  circle  of  iron.  From  all  the  sur- 
rounding vineyards  the  enemy  had  been  driven ; 
behind  their  fortifications  they  could  repose  for  the 
night  with  the  unpleasant  reflection  that  on  the 
morrow  they  must  surrender  at  discretion.  Thus 
ended  a  day  of  which  the  Pope's  soldiers  may  well 
be  proud.  There  have  been  battles  more  widely 
celebrated  ;  there  have  been  more  men  engaged  on 
one  field  ;  but  in  no  battle  was  a  holier  cause  upheld 
or  greater  courage  displayed  than  by  the  Pontifical 
army  at  Mentana. 

But  where,  during  all  this  time  was  the  arch- 
revolutionist    Garibaldi?      His    impious     cry    of 


1 


284 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


il 


"  Rome  or  Death"  was  never  nttered  by  him  in 
the  front  ranks.  He  did  not,  like  Charette,  lead 
his  men  to  battle,  but  remained  in  safety.  It  has 
even  been  asserted  that  he  sought  refuge  in  a  con- 
fessional! In  any  case,  he  never  appeared  in  front, 
and  when  his  followers  were  driven  back  on  Men- 
tana,  he  sought  a  place  of  safety  in  Monte-Rotondo. 
Thence  in  the  first  hours  of  the  night,  like  a 
whipped  cur,  he  sneaked  away  towards  the  frontier. 
He  did  not  tight  at  the  head  of  his  men ;  he  did  not 
stay  to  share  their  fate.  To  save  his  worthless  life 
he  added  another  member  to  his  war-cry:  from 
"  Rome  or  Death,"  it  became  "  Rome  or  death,  or 
flighty  He  chose  the  latter  alternative  and  igno- 
miniously  fled.  The  Pontifical  soldiers  were  not 
monks  or  nuns ;  hence  his  courage  oozed  out  at  his 
finger  ends,  and  made  him  grasp  in  haste  the  reins 
of  his  horse's  bridle.  In  his  merited  ignominy,  and 
in  the  derision  his  flight  excited,  let  the  old  revolu- 
tionist live  on.  In  his  case,  life  is  a  punishment ; 
he  may  excite  the  sympathy  of  ignorant  bigots, 
but  he  can  only  provoke  the  contempt  of  the  en- 
lightened. 

Morgan  Leahy  and  his  friend  Lorenzo  had  been, 
as  we  saw,  in  the  first  attack ;  they,  too,  rushed  up 
the  ascent  to  the  Santucci  vineyard  to  the  cry  of 
"  Dieu  et  Pie  IX. !"  In  an  olive  walk  they,  together 
with  two  others,  were  engaged  against  a  knot  of 
Garibaldians  who  held  the  place  with  determina- 
tion. But  the  zouaves  had  to  come  to  conquer, 
and  conquer  they  must.  "  'Tis  for  Holy  Church, 
Lorenzo ;  strike   quick  and  strong."    These  were 


MBNTANA. 


286 


Morgan's  words,  and  Lorenzo  answered  with  a 
"Viva  Pio  IX.,"  wliich  roused  the  echoes  in  the 
olive  grove.  They  sprang  forward  closely  followed 
by  their  companions,  and  two  of  the  enemy  bit  the 
dust.  Onward  they  press,  slashing  right  and  left, 
not  displaying  much  science  but  dealing  death  most 
effectually.  They  carried  the  position,  and  hurried 
forward  to  keep  abreast  of  the  main  line.  The 
popular  idea  of  a  battle  is  that  long  unbroken  lines 
of  men  rush  against  similar  lines ;  but  this  is  not 
the  case.  Knots  and  groups,  scattered  here  and 
there,  defend  or  attack  commanding  sites;  in  a 
bayonet  charge  a  dozen,  ten,  or  four  men  may  bo 
separated  from  their  comrades,  and  encounter  like 
knots  of  the  enemy. 

After  the  lirst  positions  of  the  enemy  in  the 
Villa  Santucci  had  been  carried,  a  dreadful  carnage 
ensued  around  the  buildings.  The  Garibaldians 
felt  that  this  was  their  strong  point ;  if  it  were  lost 
they  must  quickly  retreat ;  hence  they  defended  it 
bravely.  Towards  this  point  Morgan  and  Lorenzo 
converged ;  as  they  broke  through  a  grape-covered 
bower,  they  came  upon  a  zouave  who,  with  his  back 
to  the  hedge,  was  defending  himself  against  three 
Garibaldians,  one  of  whom  he  had  succeeded  in 
wounding.  Lorenzo  recognized  the  zouave ;  it  was 
Peppe.  With  one  bound  and  a  cry  of  "  Bravo ! 
Peppe,"  he  reach  the  spot  and  sent  his  bayonet 
through  one  of  the  enemy.  The  other  two  seeing 
the  turn  of  affairs  beat  a  quick  retreat.  Poor  Peppe 
was  well-nigh  exhausted,  but  culling  a  few  grapes, 
he  refreshed  himself  as  he  trotted  forward. 


> 

'1^: 


% 


.:L:i^M% 


286 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS/ 


They  now  arrived  in  front  of  the  building;  the 
clashing  of  swords  was  deafening ;  tlie  groans  of  the 
wounded  lieartrending.  Blood  dyed  the  sward;  it 
bespattered  the  blocks  of  stone  which  formed  rude 
seats;  it  gave  a  murky  tint  to  the  waters  in  the 
basin  of  the  fountain.  The  cry  of  "  Dieu  et 
Pie  IX."  was  answered  by  a  clioking  sound  of  "  0 
Roma  o  Morte,"  "  Rome  or  Death "  from  an  in- 
furiated Garibaldian  who  was  dealing  plentiful 
wounds  to  many  a  zouave.  His  cruel  liawk  nose 
and  demon-lighted  eyes  revealed  him  :  it  was  Cnpo- 
diavolo.  He  was  everywhere ;  he  vomited  ftarful 
imprecations  on  the  Pope  and  his  army ;  he  called 
to  his  companions  to  pave  their  passage  to  hell  with 
the  souls  of  the  zouaves.  Many  a  thrust  was  made 
at  liim,  but  he  could  wriggle  like  an  eel,  and 
avoided  or  parried  every  stroke.  When  he  saw 
his  men  yielding  at  one  point  he  would  rush  across 
with  a  wild  oath  and  endeavor  to  regain  the  lost 
ground. 

Peppe  knew  him,  and  hurriedly  told  Morgan 
and  Lorenzo  who  he  was,  as  they  came  upon  the 
scene. 

"  I'll  slay  the  demon  then,"  said  Lorenzo,  and 
dashed  on  to  meet  him.  His  men  were  retreating, 
hotly  pursued  by  the  zouaves  ;  he  stood  almost  alone 
on  a  gentle  slope.  Straight  against  him  Lorenzo 
ran,  and  soon  they  were  thrusting  at  each  other's 
heart.  It  was  an  exciting  spectacle;  both  were 
strong  and  lithe  ;  both  could  spring  elastically  and 
parry  adroitly;  but  Capodiavolo  was  the  heavier. 
As  the  zouaves  came  rushing  onward  the  demon- 


'',  l\ 


MENTANA. 


287 


H 


lighted  eyes  of  Capodiavolo  shot  forth  an  ugly  light, 
and  with  a  quick  lunge  he  felled  Lorenzo  to  the 
earth.  Seeing  himself  almost  isolated,  he  scowled  in 
impotent  rage,  and  followed  his  retreating  ranks. 
Morgan  had  not  witnessed  the  fall  of  his  friend, 
being  too  busily  engaged  in  another  direction ;  he 
pressed  forward  to  the  last  point  defended  by  the 
Garibaldians  in  this  historic  vineyard.  Here  the 
fight  was  fierce  but  short ;  the  enemy  had  lost 
heart  after  their  former  defeat  Capodiavolo, 
liowever,  was  the  same ;  he  still  (  mi  sed  and  forght ; 
lie  still  ran  from  point  to  j>oint  and  inliicted 
vounds  with  an  unsparing  iiand.  3^organ  came  in 
contact  v/ith  him  near  the  edge  '  f  ^he  Yilla ;  Capo- 
diavolo knew  him,  and  jerked  out : 

"Vile  hireling!  I'll  send  you,  as  I  hcive  just 
sent  your  infamous  companion,  to  sup  with  the 
devil."  .      . 

The  words  almost  stunned  Morgan.  Was  Lorenzo 
dead  ?  He  had  not  seen  him  lately ;  perhaps  the 
ruffian  spoke  aright.  But  Morgan  had  no  time  for 
reflection ;  he  must  defend  himself  against  the  one 
whom  he  had  seen  stretching  on  the  ground  many 
of  his  companions.  As  Capodiavolo  thrust  his 
bayonet  right  for  his  heart,  Morgan  almost  imag- 
ined that  he  felt  a  hot  breath,  like  a  blast  from  an 
oven,  scorching  his  face.  It  seemed  to  come  from 
the  demon-lighted  eyes  of  his  advancing  enemy. 
With  a  dexterous  movement  he  turned  aside  the 
glittering  blade.  Just  then  he  heard  the  voice  of 
Charette  shouting  "En  avant !  Dieu  et  Pie  IX. !" 
The  words  sent  an  unwonted  strength  through  his 


li 


l!',1 


lefl^P^^W 


'288 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


frame.  "  Dieu  et  Pie  IX.,"  he  shouted  in  response, 
and  drove  his  bayonet  through  the  body  of  Capo- 
diavolo.  A  gurgling  imprecation  was  all  he  heard 
as  he  was  borne  onward  with  the  victorious  columns 
that  were  now  pursuing  the  enemy  towards  the  vil- 
lage of  Montana. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 


There  is  a  mad  excitement  in  war  which  throws, 
to  the  eyes  of  many,  a  veil  of  glory  over  the  oppos- 
ing hosts,  and  lights  up  the  plain  with  dazzling 
splendor.  All  the  horrors  of  the  situation ;  all  the 
blood  and  tears  that  are  caused  to  rain  down  on 
the  toiii  field  are  disregarded;  only  the  brilliant 
charge,  the  awful  daring  of  bravery,  or  the  stub- 
born stand  of  men  despairing  of  victory,  yet  willing 
to  face  danger,  is  thought  of.  But  when  the  din 
and  strife  have  ceased;  when  the  storm  has  been 
exhausted  by  its  own  fury,  and  the  silence  of  night 
has  fallen  over  the  gory  field,  then  thj  mind  can 
measure  the  evils  of  war.  The  blood-red  torch 
which  lent  a  fictitious  glitter  to  the  scene  of  car- 
nage no  longer  dazzles  the  eye,  and  the  desire  of 
fame  is  quenched  by  the  dark  pools  of  human  blood 
which  slowly  congeal  in  the  evening  breeze. 

Night  had  cast  its  dreamy  influence  over  the  hills 
of  Montana;  the  stars  twinkled  merrily  in  their 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 


289 


serene  firmament  as  if  rejoicing  in  their  security. 
The  rays  of  tlie  moon  fell  aslant  over  the  rugged 
heights  of  Monte-Rotondo,  and  cautiously  peered 
into  the  ravines  and  hollows  which  lay  between  that 
town  and  Mentana.  Over  the  slope  of  the  Santucci 
vineyard  the  mellow  light,  partly  intercepted  by 
the  vine  trails  and  olive  trees,  fell  in  tremulous 
shimmerings  as  if  startled  by  the  traces  of  fury  on 
which  it  shone.  A  cool  breeze  swept  over  the 
northern  hills,  and  came  in  uneasy  gusts,  like  the 
rushing  of  troubled  spirits. 

Many  a  camp-fire  glovved  in  the  vicinity,  sending 
forth  showers  of  sparks  which  leaped  upward  exult- 
higly  for  a  moment,  and  then,  like  the  gay  'mid  the 
pleasures  of  life,  went  out  cold  and  dark  into  the  un- 
explored regions  of  air.  Groups  of  wearied  soldiers 
sit  round  the  various  fires,  eating,  smoking,  and  some- 
times chatting.  They  had  slept  but  little  the  pre- 
vious night ;  they  had  been  on  foot  by  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning;  they  had  marched  several  miles, 
and  fought  during  four  houra.  Now,  that  the 
excitement  of  battle  is  over,  they  feel  the  ejffects  of 
this  day  of  labor,  and  tired  nature  demands  a  rest. 
Around  the  camp-fires,  then,  they  squat ;  the  heroes 
of  two  hours  ago  are  lost  in  the  jaded  mortals  who 
recline  on  the  grass,  eating  brown  bread  and  drink- 
ing black  coffee  from  tin  cans.  Their  deeds  of 
bravery  which  excited  admiration  are  forgotten ; 
their  erst  elastic  limbs  are  stiff  and  swollen ;  but 
their  hearts  still  burn  w.Ji  love  for  Pius  IX.,  and 
their  pulse  still  throbs  with  affection  for  the  cause 
of  Holy  Church, 

13 


^ 
"H 


290 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


The  field  presents  a  desolate  spectacle.  Here  the 
splinters  of  a  gun-carriage,  there  a  shattered  am])u- 
lance ;  here  a  sword-hilt,  a  broken  rifle,  a  knapsack, 
there  a  dead  horse,  a  soldier's  hej>%  a  piece  of  ord- 
nance. This  is  the  aspect  of  the  field  everywhere 
repeated.  And  then  the  leaden  balls,  the  fragments 
of  shell,  and  everything  stained  and  smeared  with 
gore.  Turn  where  you  will  the  same  aspect,  the 
same  traces  of  a  furious  battle  present  themselves. 

But  crowning  horror  of  all  these  horrors:  tlie 
dead  bodies  with  eyes  staring  blankly  upward — with 
gaping  wounds  encrusted  on  the  edges  with  con- 
gealed blood — with  looks  of  horror,  grief,  remorse, 
or  quiet  calm.  And  then  the  low  moan  of  the 
dying ;  the  restless  complaining  of  some ;  the  sharp 
cries  of  anguish ;  the  prayer  for  pardon  softly 
breathed,  and  the  horrible  blasphemy  of  despairing 
reprobates.  These  are  the  after-scenes  of  the  bat- 
tle, and  may  well  rob  war  of  its  fancied  glory. 

Flaming  torcles  slowly  moving  over  the  broken 
ground  told  that  ministers  of  mercy  were  at  work 
binding  up  the  wounds  of  the  flesh  and  pouring 
oil  and  wine  over  bruised  souls.  Kude  litters, 
borne  with  tender  care,  passed  into  the  flare  of 
these  torches ;  they  were  carried  by  the  noble  sol- 
diers, who  forgot  their  own  wearisomeness  in  their 
care  for  the  wounded;  they  contained,  in  many 
cases,  not  their  own  companions,  but  the  Garibal- 
dian  raiders  against  whom  they  had  fought  so 
recently.  But  now  all  thought  of  battle  was  over ; 
they  strove  to  assuage  the  pain  of  the  suffering,  and 
to  console  the  afllicted.     The  night  was  chill,  and 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 


291 


the  soldiers  required  their  overcoats  after  the  heat 
of  the  day,  but  oflScers  and  men  cheerfully  took  off 
their  cloaks  and  coats,  and  threw  them  over  the 
wounded  enemy.  One  nobleman,  a  duke  of  France, 
paid  with  his  life  for  this  act  of  charity.  He 
contracted  a  severe  cold  which,  developing  into 
pleurisy,  carried  him  off  in  a  few  days.  The 
Christian  soldier  is  a  I'.ero  when  fighting  in  a  just 
cause ;  he  can  be  equally  a  hero  of  charity  in  the 
after-scenes. 

Morgan  Leahy  was  not  the  last  in  his  care  of  the 
wounded ;  naturally  of  a  sensitive  disposition  and 
unused  to  scenes  of  violence,  his  generous  heart 
melted  with  compassion  at  the  sight  of  so  much 
suffering.  He  had  fought  bravely — most  bravely. 
Charette  commended  him  in  the  presence  of  several 
French  and  Pontifical  officers ;  he  had  witnessed  his 
gallantry  during  the  first  charge,  as,  also,  his  action 
in  Villa  Santucci,  particularly  his  overthrow  of 
Capodiavolo.  In  the  last  charge  of  all  he  had  dis- 
tinguished himself  amongst  a  company  of  Zouaves 
who  helped  a  section  of  artillery,  commanded  by 
Captain  Daudier,  to  maintain  for  a  time  a  most 
dangerous  position  within  three  hundred  yards  of 
the  walls  of  Montana.  But  Morgan  thought  little 
of  this  military  glory  or  of  the  promotion  it  was 
sure  to  h/ng  him.  He  was  proud  to  have  nobly 
discharged  a  noble  duty,  but  he  thought  more  of 
assuaging  the  pain  of  the  wounded,  and  of  means  to 
move  to  hearty  sorrow  the  dying,  than  of  his  own 
fame.  He  longed  to  be  instrumental  in  saving  the 
souls  of  those  who  were  about  to  meet  their  Maker. 


II 


ik 
^ 


"St 


292 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


'II 


He  had  lost  all  trace  of  Lorenzo ;  was  he  dead,  or 
dying?  Sadly  he  and  Peppe  retraced  the  ground 
over  which  they  had  gallantly  charged.  There  were 
so  many  out  on  the  mission  of  charity  that  most  of 
the  wounded  had  been  carried  to  a  place  of  shelter. 
Many  were  in  a  little  church  near  by.  As  they  came 
through  the  Saritucci  vineyard  their  torch  flared  a 
moment  and  was  extinguished.  Ere  they  could  pro- 
cure another,  they  heard  a  groan,  half  stifled,  as  if 
the  sufferer  was  endeavoring  to  suppress  every  sound. 
Guided  by  the  moans  they  drew  near,  and  found  a 
body  half  caught  in  a  hedge-row,  through  which  he 
had  attempted  to  crawl.  By  the  dim  light  they 
could  perceive  that  it  was  a  Garibaldian.  Quickly 
and  tenderly  they  bore  him  to  the  little  chapel.  It 
was  crowded  with  the  wounded  of  both  sides.  Lay- 
ing him  down  in  the  light,  the  sufferer  opened  his 
eyes ;  they  were  the  blurred  eyes  of  a  dying  man, 
yet  such  an  evil  light  broke  through  the  film  of 
coming  death  that  there  could  be  no  mistaking  the 
individual.     Peppe  started  back  and  said  : 

"  Per  Bacco !  it  is  Capodiavolo  ;  but  he  is  booked 
for  a  speedy  passage." 

\:  Yes,  it  was  he.  Wounded  by  Morgan,  he  had 
crawled  away  to  escape  notice,  and  to  die  unseen  by 
his  enemies.  A  doctor  quietly  dressed  his  wound, 
and  gave  him  a  refreshing  draught,  but  shook  his 
head  and  shrugged  his  shoulders,  plainly  saying  "  no 
hope,"  in  answer  to  Morgan's  inquiring  look. 

What  could  Morgan  now  do?  He  was  anxious 
to  learn  something  about  Lorenzo ;  but  here  was  a 
hardened  sinner  about  to  die.    He  could  not  leave 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 


293 


him  without  striving  first  to  awaken  him  to  a  sense 
of  his  miserable  situation,  and  procuring  for  him  tlie 
assistance  of  a  priest.  Telling  Peppe  to  look  round 
among  the  wounded  there  present,  and  then  to  return 
to  him,  he  approached  Capodiavolo  who  had  now 
rallied  a  little.  In  tones  gentle  as  those  of  a  Sister 
of  Charity  he  asked  him  how  he  felt. 

"  Vile  minion  of  the  Vampire  of  the  Vatican, 
away  from  my  sight.     1  hate  and  curse  you  all." 

"  Even  if  you  do  you  might  allow  me  to  help  you 
in  your  present  suffering  state.  I  might  ease  a  little 
your  pain." 

"  Who  caused  mc  this  pain,  base  hireling  ?  'Twas 
such  as  you.  What !"  shrieked  the  dying  i-eprobate 
as  he  glared  full  on  Morgan,  "it  was  yourself.     May 

"      But  his   horrible   blasphemy  may  not   be 

written  by  a  Christian  pen. 

"  In  any  case,"  quietly  began  Morgan,  "  I  wounded 
you  on  the  open  field  and  by  no  dishonorable  means. 
Surely  you  cannot  blame  me  for  my  conduct.  You 
would  have  done  the  same  to  me ;  you  did  it  to  some 
of  my  friends.  Moreover,  it  was  I  and  another  zou- 
ave who  carried  you  to  this  place.  We  bear  no 
malice  to  those  against  whom  we  fought.  A  true 
soldier  may  not  wish  to  be  conquered,  but  he  will 
never  blame  his  vanquisher  if  he  has  used  no  un- 
worthy acts." 

During  this  speech  Capodiavolo  was  tossing  rest- 
lessly on  his  bed;  he  felt  the  truth  of  Morgan's 
words,  and  eaid  more  mildly, 

"  You  are  partly  right ;  but  why  fight  against  our 
glorious  project  of  a  Universal  Republic  ?    We  are 


'iK^t 


294 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


ti 


I'' 


the  regenerators  of  Italy  and  of  the  world ;  we  are 
the  aurora  which  ushers  in  the  day  of  Liberty,  Equal- 
ity, Fraternity ;  we  are  the  crowning  of  the  edifice 
begun  by  Luther  and  partly  finished  by  Voltaire. 
After  us  no  authority  of  Church  or  State  will  exist 
against  which  to  rebel." 

Instead  of  attempting  to  argue  with  him,  Mor- 
gan, seeing  him  more  composed  than  at  first,  re- 
plied : 

"  There  is  one  thing  which  respects  neither  State 
nor  age ;  it  levels  with  impartial  hand  all  alike ;  it 
is  present  at  ^reat  battles  and  in  quiet  rooms,  but  it 
never  is  bought  off  nor  softened-  -it  is  Death.  It 
awaits  us  all ;  to  some  its  aspect  is  terrible,  but  to 
others  it  is  seen  disarmed  of  its  horrors.  God  is 
good  my  friend,  invoke  His  holy  name ;  repent 
truly  of  your  sins,  and  death  will  only  be  the  portal 
which  will  lead  you  to  true  happiness." 

"  Ha !  ha !  You  talk  like  a  frate.  Death  !  Who 
is  going  to  die?  God!  Who  is  He?  A  vaunt! 
such  superstition !  Hurrah  for  the  devil  and  our 
secret  societies.  We  kill  God  in  them.  We  fight 
against  Him  ;  we  defy  His  power.  We  are  spread 
all  over  Europe ;  great  statesmen,  yes,  princes  belong 
to  us,  and  Satan  is  our  head.     Viva  it  diavolo  /" 

As  the  wretch  thus  wildly  blasphemed,  his  appear- 
ance was  fearful  to  contemplate.  His  lemon-lighted 
eyes  shone  with  the  concentrated  fury  of  a  thousand 
basilisks  ;  his  cruel  hawk  nose  pecked  savagely  at  his 
twitching  upper  lip  ;  the  white  foam  spurted  forth 
from  his  blackening  lips.  A  priest  just  then  came 
up ;  Morgan  hurriedly  gave  him  an  account  of  Capo- 


.■      K    IP 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 


296 


diavolo.     The  priest  approached  his  bed,  and  bying 
his  hand  on  his  arm,  said  : 

"My  son,  death  is  fast  coming  on  you ;  do  not  he 
deceived,  but  prepare  to  meet  your  Judge." 

"  Away  !  let  no  priest  come  near  me;  let  the  devil 
be  my  ministering  angel.  Ha!  ha! — "  Here  a 
look  of  horror  came  to  his  face,  and  he  continued  : 
"  Would  you,  you  false  old  cheat,  after  all  my  yeare 
of  service,  would  you  at  last  drag  me  down  to 
your  infernal  prison  ?  You  told  me  there  was  no 
hell,  that  it  was  all  a  superstition ;  and  now  you  sur- 
round my  bed  to  bear  me  off." 

"  My  son,  hope  in  God  and  repent ;  He  will  par- 
don you  if  you  do." 

"  Hope !"  shrieked  the  lost  soul,  "  there  is  no 
hope  for  me ;  I  don't  want  to  hope ;  I  hate  God, 
His  Church,  civil  governments,  and  priests." 

As  Capodiavolo  made  this  dying  profession  of  the 
creed  of  the  secret  societies,  he  raised  himself  up  in 
bed.  Trembling  he  remained  in  this  posture  for  a 
moment,  and  then  jerked  out : 

"  Away  ye  mocking  devils ;  you  will  not  get  me 
yet.  Yes,  I  am  damned — damned  forever — lost — 
lost— lost.    Oh-h-h !" 

^  Giving  expression  to  this  dismal  wail,  which  he 
will  make  forever  resound  through  the  place  of 
everlasting  horror,  Capodiavolo  fell  backward  a  life- 
less mass.  His  forcing-pump  voice  would  jerk  no 
more  its  evil  words ;  liis  cruel  nose  no  longer 
pecked  at  the  lip  which  no  longer  twitched ;  but  the 
dancing  demons  seemed  yet  to  sport  in  his  evil  eyes, 
which  stared  at  the  ceiling.     If  they  had  in  reality 


i« 


> 
% 


296 


AFTER  >rBABT  TEARS. 


departed,  they  had  left  an  impression  of  themselves 
in  the  home  in  which  for  years  they  had  danced. 
The  seal  of  reprobation  was  legibly  stamped  on  the 
repulsive  features  of  Capodiavolo. 

Half  terrified  by  this  awful  scene  Morgan  turned 
away,  and  came  to  another  dying  Garibaldian.  It 
was  Cecco,  who  had  been  initiated  in  the  den,  amid 
the  ruins  on  the  Aventine.  Too  weak  to  follow  the 
example  of  young  Marini,  he  had  joined,  but  in  a 
half-hearted  way,  the  raiders.  Wounded  mortally, 
he  had  thought  over  the  sins  of  his  life,  and  had 
recollected  the  good  inatructions  received  in  youth. 
He  formed  his  lips  to  repeat  the  sweet  prayers  of 
his  days  of  innocence,  and  hope  sprang  up  in  his 
soul.  He  had  weakly  given  way  to  temptations, 
but  he  had  never  been  hardened  in  malice.  The 
^race  of  repentance  was  vouchsafed  him  ;  he  called 
for  a  priest,  and  publicly  retracted  his  adhesion  to 
the  secret  societies,  asked  pardon  for  his  bad  exam- 
ple, and  was  reconciled  with  the  Church.  He  was 
now  praying  fervently,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
breathed  his  last.  This  death,  after  the  awful  one 
of  Capodiavolo,  partly  soothed  Morgan's  troubled 
soul. 

Passing  along  the  rows  of  wounded,  saying  a 
cheering  word  to  each  one,  Morgan  at  length  came 
to  the  couch  of  a  zouave  who  was  fast  dying.  He 
was  a  young  man  with  that  i^igh  stamp  of  intel- 
lectuality which  generally  distinguishes  the  true 
Italian.  His  features,  beautified  by  the  mellow 
twilight  of  a  life  nobly  ended,  or  etherealized  ])y 
the  aurora  of  immortality,  were  so  fascinating  as  to 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 


297 


mg  a 

came 

He 

intel- 

true 
ellow 
ed  by 

as  to 


make  the  gazer  forgetful  of  the  rapid  approach  of 
death.  It  was  yonng  Marini ;  he  who  had  been 
rescued  in  the  den  by  Morgan  and  Lorenzo,  and 
who  had  ever  since  been  tlieir  devoted  friend.  He 
was  fast  dying,  and  he  knew  it ;  he  was  fast  dying, 
but  what  recked  he  ?  For  him  death  was  gain ;  it 
was  the  messenger  which  will  summon  us  all  to  the 
presence  of  our  Maker — the  messenger  so  grim  and 
terrible  to  the  wicked,  so  full  of  hope  to  the  just. 
The  strong  tide  of  his  yonng  life  had  ebbed ;  the 
remaining  streamlet  was  fast  rippling  away  into  the 
still,  mysterious  ocean  of  eternity.  The  bright  sun 
of  youthful  promise  had  set;  the  golden  edge  of 
his  day  was  fast  sinking  behind  the  blank  horizon — 
Death. 

Smiling  as  Morgan  approached,  he  said  : 

"How  glad  I  am  to  see  you,  my  dear  friend. 
You  have  passed  through  this  glorious  day  un- 
scathed, although  you  were  always  in  the  thickest 
of  the  fight.     I  am,  as  you  see,  fast  dying." 

"  It  is  then  you,  Marini ;  I  scarcely  recognized 
you  in  this  light ;  but  you  are  not  so  near  your 
last." 

"  Yes,  Morgan,  I  am.  Do  not  think  that  you 
will  make  me  sad  by  talking  of  death  ;  it  is  a 
glorious  thing  to  die  for  the  rights  of  the  Holy  See. 
Seen  by  the  clear  light  of  a  death-bed,  how  vain  do 
the  pleasures  of  the  world  appear!  How  paltry 
the  things  for  which  men  strive  through  weary  days 
and  sleepless  nights!  How  base  the  motives  which 
too  often  incite  to  action  !  Ah,  Morgan,  only  God 
is  great;  only  His  love  is  worth  striving  for;  how 
13*  - 


298 


AFTER  WEARY  YEAR8. 


p ' 


foolish  to  ever  forget  the  end  for  which  we  have 
been  created,  or  to  swerve  from  the  patli  of  virtue !" 

"Yon  are  right,  my  dear  Marin  i ;  but  you  have 
reason  to  cahiily  die  when  death  lias  been  met  in 
such  a  cause." 

*'  I  know  it,  I  know  it ;  but  I  once,  for  a  short 
time,  fell  away  from  the  strict  path  of  duty ;  I  for- 
got the  teachings  of  my  youth  and  grew  careless, 
and  finally  fell." 

"But  you  rose  quickly  and  manfully  by  God's 
grace ;  you  strove  to  atone  for  your  fault." 

The  heavenly  calm  which  had  hitherto  settled  on 
the  noble  countenance  of  Marini  began  to  be  dis- 
turbed. At  first  it  was  as  if  specks  of  clouds  were 
passing  over  the  disk  of  a  summer  sun,  so  slight 
and  fleeting  were  the  signs  of  disquiet;  but  they 
grew  larger  and  denser,  until  it  seemed  as  if  a 
thunder  cloud  had  obscured  the  sun.  The  devil 
had  "  descended,  having  great  wrath,  knowing  that 
his  time  was  short,"  and  was  making  one  last  fear- 
ful effort  to  make  the  faithful  soul  renounce  the 
glorious  crown  which  angel  hands  were  wreathing 
for  its  approaching  coronation. 

"  After  all,  Morgan,  it  is  an  awful  thing  to  offend 
God  ;  His  justice  is  dreadful — dreadful — dreadful," 
fairly  groaned  poor  Marini,  as  he  struggled  with  his 
invisible  tormentor. 

"  But  His  mercy  is  over  all  His  works ;  it  is  in- 
finite— infinite — my  poor  friend ;  His  justice  is 
only  exercised  against  the  obdurate;  His  mercy 
is  ever  extended  to  the  contrite  and  humble  of 
heart.    Give  no  heed  to  the  enemy  who  seeks  to 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 


299 


disturb  your  last  moments,"  said  Morgan,  who  saw 
the  change,  and  knew  its  cause. 

The  fight  was  short  but  keen ;  fearful  spasms 
convulsed  the  features  of  the  dying  zouave,  and 
heartrending  groans  escaped  his  lips.  Morgan 
trembled  and  prayed ;  then  taking  from  around 
Marini's  neck  a  crn.^itix — the  same  one  on  which 
he  had  refused  to  tiample — he  put  it  to  his  pale 
lips,  saying : 

"  The  Cross  and  Passion  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ 
be  your  shield  and  refuge  in  this  hour  of  danger." 

The  thunder  cloud  burst ;  streaks  of  golden  light 
shot  out  through  its  rifts.  Marini  opened  his  eyes, 
and  seizing  the  sacred  emblem  of  hope  and  Divine 
love  pressed  it  to  his  heart  and  lips.  Every  trace 
of  the  fierce  struggle  was  blotted  out ;  the  heavenly 
calm  returned ;  the  mellow  twilight  of  a  nobly- 
ended  life  blended  with  the  rich  aurora  of  immor- 
tality as  he  murmured : 

"  0 1  Cross  of  my  Saviour,  bad  as  I  was,  I  would 
not  trample  on  Thee  to  save  my  life !" 

He  was  thinking  of  the  scene  in  the  den  on  the 
Aventine,  when  Capodiavolo  wanted  him  to  trample 
on  the  crucifix.     Turning  to  Morgan,  he  said : 

"  Thanks  for  your  act ;  the  victory  is  won ;  the 
cross  of  Christ  has  conquered  the  devil  who  sought 
to  ensnare  me.  I  fain  would  repeat  aloud  our 
battle-cry,  'Dieu  et  Pie  IX.,*  but  my  voice  is 
weak." 

The  last  words  came  slowly  yet  distinctly.  Ani- 
mation was  suspended,  the  iieavenly  calm  deep- 
ened.   A  faint  sigh  was  heard  as  the  respiration 


800 


AFTER  WEABY  TEARS. 


B      ' 

! 


again  began.  "With  both  hands  pressing  the  crucifix 
to  his  heart,  young  Marini  whispered : 

"Into  Thy  hands,  O  Lord,  I  commend  my 
spirit."  Gently  the  last  ripple  of  his  life's  stream 
broke  on  the  echoless  shores  of  eternity ;  imper 
ceptihly  the  golden  edge  of  his  day  sank  behind  the 
blank  horizon — Death.  The  flush  of  life,  and  the 
forebeaming  of  immortality  vanished  from  his  brow, 
but  left  impressed  on  his  features  a  spiritualized 
beauty,  fairer  to  the  Christian  eye  than  an  Italian 
sunset.  Reverently  Morgan  composed  the  limbs  of 
his  dead  friend  ;  piously  he  clasped  the  stiffening  fin- 
gers over  the  sacred  emblem  of  Christian  hope,  the 
cross — that  same  cross  which  Marini  had  refused  to 
profane  even  when  offered  his  life  as  the  reward. 
His  noble  profession  of  Christ  on  that  occasion  was 
more  than  recompensed  by  the  victory  which  the 
cross  procured  for  him  at  the  point  of  death.  And 
thus  it  has  ever  been,  and  ever  will  be ;  the  "  cup 
of  cold  water  given  in  Christ's  name"  will  have  a 
reward  exceeding  great.  Breathing  a  prayer  for 
the  departed  soul  Morgan  turned  away,  saying : 

"  Eternal  rest  give  unto  him,  O  Lord !  and  let 
perpetual  light  shine  upon  him." 

Peppe  now  approached  Morgan  with  a  blank 
look ;  he  had  visited  every  couch,  but  Lorenzo  was 
not  amongst  those  present.  Perhaps  he  was  unin- 
jured and  looking  for  them  on  the  battlefield; 
perhaps  he  had  been  taken  prisoner  by  some  retreat- 
ing band ;  perhaps  he  was  dead,  or  dying  an  the 
cold  night-air,  alone  and  unassisted.  It  is  true  that 
parties  had  been  over  all  the  scene  of  that  day's 


AFTER  THB  BATTLE. 


801 


fight,  collecting  the  wounded  of  both  sides;  still, 
he  might  have  crawled  for  shelter  under  a  hedge- 
row, and  remained  unnoticed.  Poor  Morgan  was 
almost  distracted ;  Peppe  was  in  great  dejection  of 
spirits,  and  could  not  make  any  attempt  at  mer- 
riment. Worn  out  as  they  both  were  by  the 
fatigues  of  the  day,  and  almost  famishing — for  they 
had  not  eaten  anything  since  early  in  the  morning 
— it  is  easy  to  imagine  their  dejection.  But  Mor- 
gan had  schooled  himself  to  patient  endurance,  and, 
r-'oreover,  was  buoyed  up  with  the  ever-present 
t  ought  of  what  our  Divine  Saviour  had  suffered 
for  man.  Hence  he  resolved  to  retrace  the  ground 
in  the  Santucci  vineyard,  from  the  point  at  which 
he  had  last  seen  Lorenzo.  Peppe,  in  whom  love 
for  his  young  master  put  to  flight  all  selfish 
thoughts,  prepared  to  accompany  him. 

When  about  to  go  forth  with  a  supply  of  torches 
they  met  the  captain  of  their  company ;  learning 
their  errand  he  told  them  it  was  unnecessary,  as 
Lorenzo,  along  with  some  others,  had  been  sent  on 
to  Rome.  He  was  not  fatally  wounded,  but  would 
be  on  the  sick-list  for  a  long  time.  Somewhat 
comforted  by  this  intelligence  Morgan  and  Peppe 
sought  that  nourishment  and  rest  which  they  so 
much  required. 

Next  morning  the  Garibaldians  in  Montana  sur- 
rendered at  discretion ;  those  who  had  been  in 
Monte-Rotondo  had  made  good  their  escape  during 
the  night.  Monte-llotondo  presented  a  sad  sight 
to  the  eyes  of  the  allied  troops:  its  churches  de- 
spoiled and  profaned,  its  citizens  crushed  by  the 


Ik 


302 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


extortions  and  troubles  endured.  With  shouts  of 
unaffected  joy  they  hailed  the  French  troops,  which 
were  the  first  to  enter  in  the  morning.  The  joy  of 
deliverance  almost  made  them  forget  the  ten  days  of 
terror  through  which  they  had  passed. 

The  return  of  th.e  troops  to  Rome  was  made  the 
occasion  of  a  grand  demonstration  of  loyalty  on  the 
part  of  the  Romans.  The  Via  Nomeiitana,  by 
which  the  soldiers  returned,  was  lined  with  citizens 
of  every  rank,  for  miles  out  from  the  Gate  of 
Porta  Pia.  Refreshments  of  the  choicest  quality 
w^ere  served  out  to  the  victorious  soldiers  as  they 
passed  along,  and  bouquets  of  rare  flowers  were 
cast  under  their  feet.  Cheers  for  the  soldiers  were 
blended  with  shouts  of  "  Viva  il  Papa-re'^  v!"  Long 
live  the  Pope-king"^  "  and,  "  Hurrah  for  France,"  as 
the  brave  sons  of  that  chivalrous  nation  defiled  past. 
It  was  a  Roman  holiday,  not  such  as  used  to  cause 
the  tears  of  pitying  angels  to  flow  when  Pagan 
Rome  ran  wild  in  its  cruel  sport,  but  one  of  such 
loyal  and  innocent  recreation,  that  the  happy  souls 
of  the  Pontifical  soldiers  who  had  received  the 
summons  to  bliss  on  the  hills  of  Montana,  might 
have  mingled  with  the  rejoicing  throng  and  found 
no  reason  to  blush.  It  was  not  a  manufactured 
demonstration  such  as  sometimes  takes  place  in  some 
cities ;  it  was  a  spontaneous  outburst  of  faithful 
subjects  and  good  Christians,  who  thanked  the 
brave  soldiers  who  had  upheld  the  rights  of  their 
Sovereign,  and  crushed  the  impious  revohition. 

Loud  and  long  were  the  acclamations,  hearty  the 
greeting,  and  royal  the  entertainment  accorded  the 


Lorenzo's  anxiety. 


303 


garrison  of  Monte-Rotondo  on  its  return  from 
imprisonment  a  few  days  later.  The  best  nobles 
of  Home  deemed  it  an  honor  to  serve  them  at 
table.  They  wished  to  show  by  this  act  their  re- 
spect for  the  devoted  bravery  of  these  men,  and 
their  genuine  love  for  the  Pope,  for  whose  cause 
they  had  so  courageously  battled. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


Pagan 


LORENZO  S    ANXIETY.     ^ 

"Ah,  Morgan,  it  is  you  at  last!"  faintly  ex- 
claimed a  weak  voice. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,  dear  Lorenzo,  and  I  could  not  come 
any  sooner.  I  should  have  been  here  the  night  of 
the  battle  could  I  have  followed  my  inclinations." 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,  Morgan.  I  did  not  mean 
to  chide  you  for  not  coming  sooner;  but  it  has  been 
so  long,  so  long,"  and  the  wan  features  of  the  once 
l)ric:ht  Lorenzo  were  suffused  with  tears. 

Morgan,  too,  was  deeply  affecicr  ;  he  saw  at  a 
glance  all  his  friend  had  suffered  in  mind  and  body. 

Novelists  often  picture  to  us  the  soul-absorbing 
grief  of  a  young  girl  beside  the  sick  bed  of  her 
friend  or  her  betrothed ;  but  the  grief  of  woman  is 
generally  emotional  and  violent ;  its  life-springs  are 
in  the  affections,  not  in  the  intelligence.  It  is  like 
a  squall  in  a  midsummer  sky — wild  in  its  short- 
ived  fury,  but  quickly  giving  place  to  the  laughing 


IM 


H 


804 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


i5C> 


IL 


beams  of  the  sun.  But  the  grief  of  a  man  like 
Morgan  is  the  enduring  autumn  gloom  whicli  sliows 
no  rifts  in  its  jet-black  clouds ;  it  is  too  intense  for 
words,  too  overpowering  for  sighs,  too  desolate  for 
tears.  Few  can  understand  such  grief,  for  few  are 
endowed  with  a  brave  and  sensitive  soul. 

"  Well,  well,  dear  Lorenzo,"  at  length  continued 
Morgan,  "  here  I  am  at  last  and  here  I  shall  be  for 
several  hours  every  day.  How  do  your  wounds 
progress?  You  may  be  proud  of  them,  my  dear 
fellow ;  you  received  them  in  a  noble  cause." 

"  But  not  from  a  noble  hand,"  said  Lorenzo,  with 
a  faint  reflection  of  his  old  smile. 

"  Do  you  know  the  hand  that  inflicted  them  ?" 

*'  Yes ;  Capodiavolo's." 

"Ka!  he  told  the  truth  for  once." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Morgan  ?" 

"  Simply  that  Capodiavolo  told  me  he  had 
stretched  you  on  the  ground,  a  few  moments  be- 
fore I  dealt  him  his  death  blow." 

"Did  you,  then,  conquer  the  monster?  I  tried 
my  best,  and  I  prided  myself  on  being  quick  and 
sure  at  a  thrust ;  but  he  cut  me  down  in  a  fair  en- 
counter. He  fought  that  day  like  a  very  fury; 
had  all  the  Garil)aldians  been  like  him  we  should 
have  suffered  more  severely.  But  is  he  dead,  or 
only  wounded  ?" 

"  Dead  ;  Peppe  and  I  bore  him  to  the  temporary 
hospital,  and  I  stood  by  him  as  he  died." 

"  I  almost  dread  to  ask  how  he  died." 

This  conversation  took  place  in  the  hospital  of 
"  Santo  Spirito"  in  Home.     BuiU,  and^endowed  by 


LOBENZO'S   ANXIETY. 


306 


Pontifical  and  Catholic  munificence,  this  splen- 
did hospital  does  not  close  its  doors  against  Turk, 
Jew,  or  Infidel.  The  only  qualification  for  recep- 
tion is  bodily  disease ;  the  only  entrance -fee  a  re- 
quest for  admission.  Within  its  charitable  walls 
the  sufferer  has  all  the  benefit  of  the  best  medical 
skill  of  Rome,  and  the  tender  nursing  of  those 
matchless  ministers  of  the  sick-room — the  Sisters  of 
Charity.  True  religion  is  the  mother  of  heroic 
actions,  the  prompter  of  sublime  deeds,  the  fosterer 
of  lofty  aspirations.  It  provides  for  the  wants  of 
man  in  every  stage  of  existence,  and  satisfies  his  in- 
tellect in  every  grade  of  its  development.  Without 
it  the  care  of  the  poor  and  the  infirm,  the  instruc- 
tion of  the  ignorant,  and  the  last  services  to  the 
dead,  lose  the  lustre  of  charity  and  become  mere 
objects  of  hire.  Were  any  proof  required  to  show 
that  the  religion  of  Rome  is  the  Eternal  Truth  of 
God,  divinely  revealed  and  divinely  guarded,  it 
could  easily  be  supplied  by  investigating  the  work- 
ings of  its  various  orders  and  confraternities.  There 
are  religious  orders  of  both  sexes  devoted  to  the  in- 
struction of  youth,  to  the  care  of  the  insane,  the 
blind,  and  the  mute,  to  the  nursing  of  the  sick,  and 
the  burying  of  the  dead.  There  are  others  given  to 
contemplation,  in  which  the  mind  of  man  is  ele- 
vated to  a  closer  union  with  God,  and  the  human 
intelligence  is  expanded  by  meditation  on  the  In- 
finite. It  is  no  love  of  worldly  gain  which  moves 
the  hearts  of  the  members  of  these  orders.  Many 
of  them  leave  pleasant  homes  and  loving  friend 
to  serve  God,  unknown  to  the  eyes  of  man,  in  the 


iiti 


306 


AFTEK   WEARY   TEARS. 


coarse  garb  of  a  Sister  of  Charity ;  all  tlie  sensitive 
feelings  of  a  refined  soul  are  nerved,  by  love  of 
God,  to  endure  the  sight  and  touch  of  loathsome 
sores.  The  world  cannot  understand  such  heroism — 
it  could  not  understand  the  actions  of  our  Saviour. 
It  traduced  the  latter,  it  traduces  the  religions 
orders;  it  persecuted  the  Man-God,  it  persecutes 
those  orders  which  imitate  His  divine  perfections 
more  nearly  than  the  rest  of  mankind.  But  the 
day  of  final  adjustment  will  come,  and  the  despised 
garb  of  a  true  monk,  or  nun,  will  shine  like  clotli- 
of-gold  studded  with  diamonds,  whilst  the  rich  dress 
of  the  worldling  will  be  faded  and  dim. 

Long  rows  of  beds,  covered  with  snow-white 
linen,  in  which  the  wounded  Garibaldians  as  well 
as  the  Pontifical  soldiers  lie,  occupy  one  wing  of 
this  hospital.  The  ceiling  is  lofty,  and  ventilation 
is  rendered  complete.  All  arrangements  for  the 
comfort  and  convenience  of  patients  are  provided, 
and  by  their  handsome  finish  and  artistic  bestowal 
add  to  the  beauty  of  the  general  appearance. 
The  Italian  is  ever  alive  to  the  beautiful,  and  en- 
deavors to  combine  it  with  the  useful.  He  knows 
its  humanizing  effect  on  the  healthy,  and  its  cheer- 
ing influence  on  the  invalid. 

Silent  figures  flitted  about  from  bed  to  bed,  giv- 
ing a  cooling  drink  to  this  one,  whispering  a  cheer- 
ing word  to  that  one ;  now  washing  a  festering 
wound,  now  changing  the  bandages  on  a  broken 
arm.  Every  movement  was  so  noiseless,  every  touch 
so  gentle,  every  word  so  soothing,  that  the  wounded 
soldier  might  well  fancy  that  death  had  claimed  him 


LORENZO  S   ANXIETY. 


307 


on  the  battlefield,  and  that  now  he  was  in  the  land 
of  spirits. 

Learned  men — men  who  walk  the  higher  paths  of 
science  side  by  side  with  England's  best  scholars — 
might  be  seen  in  this  hospital,  washing  the  face  and 
combing  the  hair  of  some  poor  invalid.  They 
came  to  perform  this  act  of  ciiarity,  and  thert&  re- 
turned to  their  books  with  souls  ennobled  and 
minds  expanded  by  God's  love.  What  wonder 
that  they  grasp  sublime  ideas  and  unearth  recondite 
truths  ? 

The  nobility  of  Rome  are  not  strangers  in  the 
hospitals  ;  many  of  them  are  regular  in  their  visits, 
and  perform  various  acts  of  Christian  charity  to- 
wards the  sufferers.  Just  now,  in  order  to  testify 
their  love  for  the  cause  for  which  the  soldiers 
gallantly  fought,  they  come  in  numbers  to  visit 
the  wounded,  and  to  bring  them  an  unlimited  sup- 
ply of  delicacies.  The  Queen  of  Naples  was  a 
constant  attendant,  and  ol)tained  the  name  of  "  Sis- 
ter of  Charity"  from  Pius  IX. 

Lorenzo  had  been  three  days  in  this  hospital ;  his 
wound  was  severe  but  not  mortal.  Spent  and  worn 
he  was,  but  the  worst  was  over,  and  the  sight  of 
Morgan  helped  to  hasten  his  recovery. 

"I  am  anxious,  Morgan,  to  be  up  and  able  to  go 
about ;  it  is  not  the  pain  of  my  wound  which  trou- 
bles me  most." 

"  Dear  Lorenzo,  I  am  anxious  to  see  you  well ; 
still  we  must  have  patience.  Be  as  much  of  a  hero 
now  in  endurance  as  you  were  on  the  hills  of  Men- 
tana.     In  a  little  time  you  will  be  all  right ;  you 


I'll 


'% 


^  ■%!;:■ 


i'-?       51 


l«» 


II 


308 


AFTER  WKART   TEARS. 


want  for  nothing  here  which  the  most  tender  love 
can  procure." 

"  Do  not  misunderstand  me,  Morgan.     It  is  not 

an  impatience  of  suffering  wliich  makes  me  speak 

so ;  I  would  suffer  with  resignation  anything  in  tlie 

shape  of  bodily  pain.     My  anxiety  is  in  regard  to 

\        something  else." 

"May  I  ask  what?" 

Another  faint  reflection  of  Lorenzo's  old  whim- 
sical smile  gave  a  momentary  glow  to  his  features 
as  he  replied : 

"  Do  you  remember  the  clever  escape  of  the  old 
Jew  on  the  night  of  the  blowing-up  of  the  Serristori 
barracks  ?  If  not  drowned  in  the  Tiber  he  must  have 
chuckled  most  complacently.  I  wonder  if  he  took 
the  liver  with  him  ?  It  is  his  words  which  have  set 
me  thinking." 

"  Surely,  Lorenzo,  you  do  not  attach  any  weight 
to  his  words." 

"  Taken  by  themselves  I  would  not ;  but,  Morgan, 
I  have  other  reasons,  slight  perhaps,  for  not  forget- 
ting them." 

"But  you  always  believed  your  mother  was 
dead." 

"  Certainly ;  but  only  because  I  never  knew  her. 
My  father  never  spoke  of  her  but  once  to  me ;  that 
was  on  the  occasion  of  my  first  visit  to  him  after 
his  absence.  While  lying  liere  I  have  been  recalling 
that  conversation,  and  his  words  and  manner  seemed 
to  point  to  some  mystery.  He  did  not  even  say 
that  my  mother  was  dead  ;  and  now  I  see  how  he 
evaded  answering  my  question  regarding  the  place 


LORENZO  8  ANXIETY. 


309 


of  her  burial.  All  this,  and  frequent  hints  of  some 
wrong  done  me,  lend  a  color  of  truth  to  the  old 
Jew's  words." 

"  Your  father  will  be  here  probably  to-day ;  I 
wrote  him  about  you.  From  him  you  can  learn  the 
truth." 

"  Ah,  Morgan,  I  must  not  question  too  closely  my 
father;  it  is  not  for  a  son  to  probe  the  hidden  grief 
of  his  parents.  I  suppose  my  mother  and  he  must 
liave  lived  unhappily,  and  separated.  Yet  my  fath- 
er is  kind  and  of  a  most  mild  disposition.  I  cannot 
fathom  the  mystery  " 

"  Better  cease  trying  for  the  present ;  you  will  re- 
tard your  recovery  by  being  too  anxious.  When 
you  are  quite  well  we  will  talk  the  matter  over  to- 
gether. We  will  employ  the  quick  wits  of  Peppe ; 
he  will  solve  the  riddle." 

I  hope  so,  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  Peppe 
knows  more  than  he  wishes  to  tell.  He  is  very  fond 
of  me,  and  faithful ;  yet  he  keeps  back  something, 
I  am  sure." 

"  I  can  answer  for  his  being  devoted  to  you,"  said 
Morgan  ;  "  on  the  night  of  the  battle  he  was  almost 
beside  himself,  until  he  heard  of  your  being  taken 
to  Rome.     He  will  doubtless  disclose  all." 

After  some  more  conversation  Morgan  departed 
for  a  short  time.  Lorenzo  felt  easier  now ;  it  was  a 
relief  to  have  made  known  his  anxiety  to  so  true  a 
friend ;  it  was  like  action,  too,  and  made  him  feel 
that  he  was  at  work.  But  here  he  was  puzzled  ;  the 
liuman  mind  often  becomes  the  sport  of  every  idle 
fancy  and  contradictory  speculation.    The  self-suf- 


% 


% 


310 


AFTER   WEARY   TEARS. 


W-^, 


■HfPllt 
-IS' 


ficient  may  boast  their  imaginary  power  of  intellect, 
and  claim  an  exemption  from  delusions ;  but  their 
boast  is  as  vain  as  their  claim  is  unfounded.  Even 
as  the  needle  of  the  compass  is  restless  until  it  is  al- 
lowed to  settle  at  its  friendly  pole,  so  the  human 
mind  is  unquiet  until  it  rests  in  God.  The  more 
thoroughly  resigned  we  are  to  God's  will,  the  great- 
er our  tranquillity ;  the  chafing  currents  of  every- 
day  life  may,  indeed,  excite  a  passing  emotion,  but 
it  will  be  only  a  faint  ripple  on  a  peaceful  lake. 

Lorenzo  was  virtuous  and  of  a  noble  disposition, 
but  he  was  sensitive  likewise ;  hence  the  thought 
that  perhaps  his  mother  was  alive  and  desirous  of 
seeing  him  filled  his  soul  with  anxious  longings. 
He  had  not  the  strong,  calm  virtue  of  Morgan,  nor 
his  tranquillity  of  disposition.  But  the  almost  cer- 
tainty of  a  few  moments  ago  regarding  the  existence 
of  his  mother  was  turned  into  improbability  by  the 
remembrance  of  his  father's  good  qualities.  It 
might  indeed  be  that  powerful  and  unscrupulous 
relatives  had  torn  them  asunder.  Lorenzo's  mind 
was  like  a  ship  tossed  hither  and  thither  in  the 
trough  of  an  agitated  sea ;  intersecting  waves  pre- 
clude the  possibility  of  any  certain  course  ;  aimlessly 
and  unprofitably  it  floats  on  the  foaming  waters. 
Worn  out  at  last,  he  sank  into  a  quiet  sleep. 

On  awaking  he  perceived  an  unusual  stir,  and  soon 
learned  its  cause.  Up  the  long  row  of  beds  a  noble 
figure  moved  with  majestic  step ;  his  countenance 
was  sweet  and  full  of  a  calm  dignity  which  begot 
reverence  and  love,  not  fear.  A  smile  of  indescrib- 
able sweetness  played  over  his  features,  except  when 


THE   CANADIAN   OIROLB. 


311 


transformed  for  an  instant  into  a  glance  of  pity  as 
his  watchful  eyes  fell  upon  one  more  badly  wounded 
than  the  others.  To  each  he  said  a  word  of  encour- 
agement or  whispered  a  message  of  hope.  When 
shown  the  couch  of  a  blaspheming  Garibaldian  he 
stopped  and  spoke  a  few  words  so  full  of  heavenly 
unction  that  the  hardened  heart  was  softened,  and 
tlie  dried-up  fountains  of  his  soul  poured  forth  again 
their  waters  of  compunction.  No  need  to  ask  who 
he  was ;  it  could  be  only  one — one  who  combined 
the  power  of  a  king  with  the  dignity  of  the  High- 
Priesthood.  It  was  Pius  IX.  He  had  come  to  con- 
sole the  suffering ;  to  thank  those  who  had  fought 
for  him,  and  to  bear  pardon  to  those  who  had  striven 
against  )nm.  This,  then,  was  the  man  so  much 
abused  and  misrepresented;  this  the  kind  father 
against  whom  they  had  impiously  raised  their  hand. 
Full  many  a  heart  was  smitten  with  true  sorrow  as 
the  noble  Pontiff  passed  on,  and  many  a  repentant 
Garibaldian  heartily  joined  the  chorus  of  "  Viva  Pio 
Nono,"  which  followed  the  prolonged  visit  of  the 
Pope. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE   CANADIAN    CIRCLE. 


George  Marchbank  was  at  work  in  his  studio ;  the 
sweet  music  of  the  Benediction  hymn  was  wafted  on 
the  crisp  winter  air  from  the  convent  of  the  "  Trinita 
dei  Monti."     Its  soft  devotional  strains  fell  sooth- 


«» 


312 


AFTBR  WEARY   TEARS. 


ingly  on  his  ear ;  every  time  he  heard  it  an  unaccus- 
tomed tenderness  occupied  his  heart  and  raised  his 
thoughts  to  God.  It  in  some  way  became  mingled 
witli  the  memory  of  Cardinal  Altieri,  and  seemed 
to  pathetically  whisper  tne  dying  Bishop's  words: 
"  Pray,  pray  for  light  and  grace."  And  he  did  pray. 
The  burden  of  his  prayer  was  ever  the  same :  "  Teacli 
me,  O  Lord,  to  do  Thy  will ;  show  me  the  way  in 
which  I  should  walk."  The  look  of  heavenly  rap- 
ture which  beamed  on  the  dying  face  of  Cardinal 
Altieri  was  over  present  to  his  mental  vision.  His 
fancy  pictured  it  floating  heavenward,  borne  on  the 
waves  of  the  sacred  music,  and  beckoning  him  to 
follow.  Be  saw  it  in  the  glinting  of  the  star-studded 
vault  and  in  the  pale  glory  of  the  moonbeams ;  it 
shone  on  dim  from  flowere  dight  with  the  sparkling 
dew,  and  pleadingly  looked  down  on  him  from  the 
golden-tipped  summit  of  the  scudding  morning  mist. 
But  everywhere  and  always  it  seemed  to  point  to 
heaven,  and  to  whisper  to  his  soul,  "Pray,  pray  for 
light  and  grace." 

Was  the  spirit  of  the  dead  Cardinal  hovering 
around  him,  praying  God  for  his  convereion  and 
drawing  his  thoughts  to  the  ways  of  truth  ?  And 
was  the  Benediction  hymn  but  another  of  those  silken 
threads  of  grace  by  which  a  free  will  is  gently  drawn 
to  freeily  co-operate  in  the  work  of  its  own  salvation  ? 
There  was  darkness  yet,  and  sore  afliiction,  and  cruel 
doubt  in  the  mind  of  George  Marchbank.  lie 
wished  to  do  right,  to  save  his  immortal  soul,  but 
the  end  of  his  troubled  road  was  not  yet  reached.  He 
had  not  yet  come  into  the  full  glory  of  Catholic 


THE   CANADIAN   CIRCLE. 


313 


Truth;  his  spirit  had  not  yet  felt  the  tranqniHty 
conferred  by  Divine  Faitli ;  liis  imagination  could 
not  yet  conceive  the  light  of  intellect,  the  security 
of  repose  enjoyed  by  Catholics.  He  saw  their  faith 
and  almost  envied  them  ;  he  would  wish  to  be  like 
them,  but  his  time  had  not  yet  come.  The  smile 
of  the  dying  Cardinal  and  the  soft  accents  of  the 
Benediction  hymn  must  yet  often  repeat  their  plain- 
tive adjuration,  "  Pray,  pray  for  light  and  grace  ;" 
and  he  must  often  yet  sob  in  the  desolation  of  his 
longing  heart,  "  Teach  me,  O  Lord,  to  do  Thy  will ; 
show  me  the  way  in  which  I  slwukl  walk ;"  and  then, 
perchance,  his  night  of  gloom  shall  be  dispelled,  his 
canker-worm  of  doubt  destroyed,  and  his  long  strug- 
gle swallowed  up  in  victory. 

It  was  near  the  close  of  a  bright  day  in  January  ; 
George  Marchbank  was  giving  the  last  touch  to  a 
Madonna,  a  copy  of  the  "  Madonna  di  San  Sisto." 
The  heavenly  calm  and  innocence  of  the  wondering 
cherubs  were  well  depicted  ;  so,  too,  were  the  features 
and  pose  of  St.  Sisto  and  St.  Barbara ;  but  he  had 
not  caught  that  characteristic  of  the  Madonna — that 
undefinable  expression  in  which  the  dignity  and  pride 
of  a  mother  are  divinely  blended  with  the  retiring 
modesty  of  a  virgin.  It  is  this  expression,  and  not 
shade  nor  pose  nor  drawing,  which  stamps  with  the 
seal  of  immortality  the  Madonna  of  a  great  master, 
and  consecrates  it  in  the  eyes  of  posterity. 

"At  work,  George?  May  I  come  in?"  And 
Morgan,  for  it  was  he  who  spoke,  came  in  without 
waiting  for  permission. 

"  You  are  just  in  time,  Morgan ;  I  want  your  can- 
14 


I 

> 


ittal 


314 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


v:|h: 


i^  1 

\0^ 


did  opinion  on  this  canvas  before  laying  it  aside ;  I 
will  tell  you  my  own  afterwards." 

"Drawing  perfect,  shading  very  good,  tints  sub- 
dued and  devotional.  All  the  accessories  arc  admir- 
able, but — hum — but — " 

"  The  principal  figure  is  not,  you  would  say,  a  suc- 
cess," said  poor  George,  who  feared  that  his  own 
opinion  was  about  to  be  confirmed  by  Morgan. 

"  In  many  ways  it  is  a  success,  but  there  is  a  want 
in  the  expression.  It  is  like  a  beautiful  corpse ;  it 
does  not  speak  eloquently  to  the  Catholic  heart." 

"  Just  as  I  feared,  -Morgan  ;  yet  I  tried  hard  to 
catch  the  proper  expression.     How  have  I  failed  ?" 

"  There  is  a  kind  of  inspiration  in  all  great  works 
of  genius,  more  particularly  so  in  sacred  subjects. 
Murillo  painted  his  Madonna  on  his  knees ;  Raphael 
liad  a  lofty  idea  of  the  Virgin  such  only  as,  excuse 
my  freedom,  a  true  Catholic  can  have.  If  the  mind 
be  not  impressed  with  a  noble  ideal,  and  the  brush 
guided  by  a  loving  hand,  it  is  impossible  to  succeed 
in  delineating  a  Madonna.  Mere  natural  genius 
could  never  produce  the  glorious  creations  of  Raph- 
ael, Murillo,  Carlo  Dolci,  or  those  of  other  masters." 

"  You  muss  be  right,  Morgan  ;  and  yet,"  said 
George,  jruibingly,  and  half  wistfully,  "I  thought 
my  soul  was  in  the  work ;  I  thought  I  felt  what  a 
type  of  womanhood  the  Virgin  was." 

"  Yes,  that  may  be ;  but  you  have  not  felt  a  child- 
like love  for  her ;  you  have  not  thoroughly  grasped 
the  idea  that,  on  account  of  her  glorious  perfections, 
as  the  masterpiece  of  the  right  hand  of  the  Most 
High  in  the  order  of  creation,'^there  is  a  divine  over- 


THE  CANADIAN  CIRCLE. 


315 


shadowing  around   her  whicli   marks  her  off,  and 
raises  her  immensely  above  every  created  being." 

"I   respect   her   certainly,"   said   George;  "but 
ought  I  to  love  her  and  to  ])ray  to  her?" 

"  Can  you  ask  if  you  ought  to  love  her  who  was 
truly  the  Mother  of  the  Incarnate  God  ?  Remem- 
ber, George,  that  the  Incarnation  is  not  a  myth,  nor 
merely  a  speculative  truth  ;  it  is  a  fact.  The  Divine 
person  of  the  Son  assumed  really  and  truly  a  human 
body  and  soul ;  there  was  no  confusion  of  natures. 
He  did  not  cease  to  be  God,  nor  did  the  human  na- 
ture cease  to  be  human  nature.  But  the  same  Divine 
person  who  had  eternally  existed  co-C(]ual  to  the  Fa- 
ther assumed  a  new  relation  without  change  or  loss 
of  His  Divine  nature,  and  united  in  Himself  humanity 
to  the  divinity.  In  this  way,  just  as  parents  are 
really  and  truly  said  to  be  the  fathers  or  the  mothers  of 
their  offspring,  although  they  do  not  beget  the  soul, 
even  so  the  Blessed  Virgin  is  really  and  truly  called 
Mother  of  God,  although  she  did  not  beget  the  Divine 
nature.  The  blood  which  flowed  in  the  sacred  veins 
of  the  Man-God,  and  which  redeemed  us  on  Calvary, 
had  previously  flowed  in  the  veins  of  the  Virgin. 
'Wisdom  built  for  itself  a  house'  when  creating  our 
Ulessed  Lady  ;  shall  we  not,  then,  love  and  reverence 
it?  Did  not  Christ  love  and  obey  her?  Is  it  not 
lawful  for  us  to  do  what  He  did  ?  Would  not  your 
blood  boil  if  you  heard  an  insult  offered  to  your 
mother?  We  may  be  certain  that  our  Divine  Sa- 
viour is  more  jealous  of  the  honor  of  His  Mother 
than  we  are  of  that  of  ours." 

"I  did  uot  consider  the  matter  in  this  light; 


I 


■'■:-m: 


316 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


your  words  appear,  as  they  always  do,  most  reason- 
able. The  Divine  maternitj  is  tlien  the  grand 
measure  of  the  perfections  of  the  Virgin,  whicli 
claim  your  reverence." 

"It  is;  and  it  also  gives  us  confidence  in  her 
power  of  intercession  with  her  beloved  Son.  It  is 
very  reasonable  to  suppose  that  our  Saviour  will 
grant  a  grace  more  readily  when  requested  by 
His  Mother,  than  when  asked  only  by  sinners. 
The  dearer  the  person,  the  greater  the  love ;  the 
greater  the  lo^"e,  the  more  prompt  and  ample  the 
favor." 

"  Very  true ;  I  see  plainly  that  the  holy  ones 
who  most  nearly  imitated  the  Saviour  on  earth,  will 
obtain  a  request  in  heaven  much  more  easily  than 
the  sinful.  I  feel  a  profound  conviction  that  the 
soul  of  Cardinal  Altieri  would  obtain  a  grace  from 
God  which  might  be  denied  at  the  request  of  one 
who  shrank  from  facing  the  cholera,  although  in 
duty  bound  to  face  it.  But  perhaps  the  souls  of 
the  blessed  know  naught  about  us." 

"Why,  George,  what  are  you  talking  about? 
Can  you  imagine  that  souls  lose  their  memory  ?  It 
is  one  of  the  grand  faculties  of  the  sonl.  Apart 
from  every  other  possible  way  of  understanding  our 
wants,  this  one,  at  least,  remains." 

"  I  will  think  well  over  what  you  have  said ;  it 
opens  up  a  new  field  of  thought  to  my  intellect." 

"Very  good;  we  shall  talk  again  on  tlie  subject. 
In  the  mean  time  I  may  as  well  tell  my  business? 
before  we  begin  another  theme.  I  want  you  to 
attend  this  evening  at  the  Canadian  Circle." 


THE  CANADIAN   CIRCLE. 


317 


"The  Cianadiari  Circle!  What  do  you  mean, 
Morgan  ?" 

"Simph  this:  you  are  aware  that  nearly  three 
hundred  of  on;;  fellow-citizens  have  come  to  join 
the  zouaves  since  the  battle  of  Montana.  The 
generous  hearts  of  the  Canadian  Catliolics  have 
prompted  those  who  could  not  come  in  person, 
to  supply  funds  to  provide  for  the  amusement  and 
improvement  of  those  who  came  to  fight.  A  circle 
or  club,  has  been  estal)lishcd,  where  we  can  meet 
and  spend  a  pleasant  evening  with  our  friends. 
We  have  a  library  and  a  recreation-room  in  connec- 
tion witli  it." 

"  I  am  pleased  beyond  measure  to  hear  this.  Nol^le 
Canada,  a  great  future  must  surely  be  in  store  for 
thee,  who,  in  thy  youth,  dost  emulate  the  chivalry 
and  generosity  of  the  oldest  nations.  The  brave 
spirits  of  Montcalm  and  Wolfe  did  not  go  forth 
in  vain  on  the  torn  plains  of  Abi'iiham.  They 
gave  a  lesson  which  Canada's  sons  have  learned. 
Yes,  I  rejoice  to  hear  of  this  Circle,  but  can  I  at- 
tend ?" 

"Of  course;  you  are  a  Canadian,  and  may  well 
claim  to  be  admitted  as  a  soldier,  for  you  did  good 
service  among  the  Yolunteers.  In  any  case  I  can 
bring  you  to-night." 

"Will  your  friend  Lorenzo  Aldini  be  there?" 

"No;  he  is  scarcely  strong  enough  yet  to  endure 
nnich  fatigue.  I  am  sorry  that  we  shall  be  deprived 
of  his  lively  conversation  and  whimsical  sallies  of 
caustic  humor.     I  suppose  you  are  too  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  am  sorry  that  ill-health  should  pre- 


^!ll 


li? 


A 


*/ 


318  AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 

/ 

vent  his  attendance ;  but  apart  from  that  I  cannot 
really  say  that  I  am  sorry." 

"Why,  George,  do  you  not  admire  his  gener- 
ous nature,  and  courageous  disposition  ?" 

"  Certainly,  for  I  saw  proofs  of  them,  both  dur- 
ing the  cholera  and  the  late  period  of  trouble; 
yet,  somehow,  we  are  not  sympathetic.  I  know 
him  to  be  good,  brave,  and  generous;  hence  I 
sincerely  respect  him ;  but  our  sympathies  never 
meet." 

.  Poor  Morgan  felt  sad  ;  here  was  George  March- 
bank  talking  just  as  did  Lorenzo;  each  respected 
the  other,  but  they  could  not  become  intimate 
friends.  How  was  it  ?  Are  there,  then,  some  mys- 
terious fluid  currents  circulating  through  the  human 
organization  analogous  in  their  action  to  those  of 
electricity,  attracting  opposite,  repelling  similar 
ones?  Or  can  the  soul  act  whilst  yet  in  life,  on 
another  soul,  in  some  slight  way  at  least,  and  fail 
at  times  to  awaken  a  responsive  chord  ?" 

After  a  little  time,  George  was  ready  to  accom- 
pany his  friend  to  the  Circle.  They  went  out  into 
the  windy  streets,  and  slowly  threaded  their  way 
through  some  narrow  windings.  Rome,  like  all  old 
cities,  tells  of  the  days  of  citizen  liberties,  ere  yet 
fussy  officials  or  ])ompous  aldermen  had  been  in- 
flicted on  suffering  humanity ;  of  the  days  when 
each  individual  stuck  his  tent-poles  on  any  unoccu- 
pied plot  without  regard  to  symmetry  of  outline 
or  geometrical  proportions.  Personal  convenience, 
not  general  effect,  was  what  decided  the  choice  of 
site.    With  the  advent  of  corporations  the  former 


THE   CANADIAN   CIRCLE. 


319 


was  made  to  become,  in  part,  subservient  to  the 
latter. 

A  playful  gust  of  the  keen  tramontana,  or  north 
wind,  lay  concealed  for  an  instant  in  some  dark 
recess,  and  then  treacherously  leaped  out  on  the 
passer-by  as  he  turned  a  sharp  corner.  For  a 
moment  it  would  screech  with  savage  delight  as  it 
tweaked  the  nose  of  the  unfortunate  pedestrian ; 
then,  as  if  repentant,  it  would  sadly  moan  as  it 
scampered  along  the  deserted  street;  but,  at  the 
next  corner,  forgetting  its  softened  mood,  it  would 
again  play  the  savage.  Thus  it  continued  to  rush 
round  corners,  to  gambol  along  the  alleys,  to  tor- 
ment the  people  abroad,  and  only  sighed  in  the 
deserted  streets. 

Morgan  and  George  soon  reached  their  destina- 
tion :  mounting  a  broad  and  massive  stairway,  they 
entered  a  lofty  room.  It  was  well  lighted,  and 
hung  round  with  banners  gracefully  depending 
from  crossed  bayonets.  Wreaths  of  maple  leaves, 
almost  rivalling  nature  in  their  verdant  softness, 
were  depicted  on  the  walls,  and  formed  a  romantic 
setting  for  the  crouching  beaver.  The  truly  Chris- 
tian motto,  "  Aime  Dieu,  et  va  ton  chemin"  ("  Love 
God,  and  go  on  thy  way"),  was  tastefully  woven 
with  choice  flowers  over  the  Canadian  flag ;  whilst 
around  a  bust  of  Pius  IX.  was  the  battle-cry  '*  Dieu 
et  Pie  IX."  ("  God  and  Pius  IX.").  On  every  side 
the  eye  encountered  some  floral  decoration  which 
breathed  a  spirit  of  patriotism  and  religion. 

The  brave  Laroque,  who  had  bathed  the  slopes 
of  Montana  with  his  blood,  was  already  there ;  so, 


I 

'111 


320 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


-■«? 


;i 


too,  was  the  gallant  Murray.  The  tall,  soldierly 
form  of  Taillefer  moved  amongst  a  group,  in  wliicli 
might  be  seen  Frechette  and  Forgette,  and  other 
names  honored  in  the  roll  of  Canada's  Pontifical 
Zouaves.  They  were  all  fine,  able-looking  men — 
men  who  could  hold  their  own  in  the  midst  of  war's 
cruel  raging,  or  amid  the  more  peaceful  scenes  of 
civic  life.  Some  of  them  had  quit  for  a  time  the 
honorable  profession  of  the  law  or  medicine; 
others  had  left  lucrative  business  pursuits;  and 
others  had  thrown  aside  the  student's  cloak  to  don 
the  jacket  of  a  soldier.  These  were  the  men  whom 
Canada,  the  Benjamin  of  nations,  had  sent  to  guard 
the  throne  of  the  loved  Pontiff:  they  were  the 
representatives  of  transatlantic  faith,  and  a  living 
proof  that  the  Catholic  citizens  of  the  freest  and 
best-governed  nation,  except  Rome  as  it  then  was, 
are  fired  by  the  same  spirit  of  loyalty  towards  the 
Church   as  animated  the  Crusaders. 

George  Marchbank  was  surprised  and  pleased. 
The  large  and  brilliant  gathering  of  his  countrymen 
kindled  a  glow  of  patriotic  ardor  in  his  generous 
heart.  He  was  proud  of  his  country,  and  with 
good  reason.  Even  those  who  do  not  believe  in 
matters  of  faith,  as  did  these  Zouaves,  must  at  least 
recognize  their  devotedness  and  bravery.  It  ought 
to  be  a  subject  of  congratulation  to  every  Canadian 
to  think  that  so  many  fellow-citizens  had  braved 
the  dangers  of  three  thousand  miles  of  water  and 
land  to  fight  for  what  they  believed  to  be  the  right. 
Men  who  will  do  this  will  not  be  wanting  when 
danger  threatens  their  own  country.     A  practical 


THE  CANADIAN  CIRCLE. 


321 


proof  of  this  was  given  during  the  civil  war  in  the 
United  States.  "When  an  invasion  of  Federal  troops 
was  talked  of  on  account  of  the  "  Trent  affair,"  the 
Catholic  University  of  Laval  was  the  first  educational 
institution  to  form  its  students  into  a  volunteer  corps 
and  to  ask  for  rifles.  And  later  still,  during  the 
"  Fenian  scare,"  the  Catholics  of  Canada  were  not 
one  whit  behind  other  citizens  in  coming  to  the 
assistance  of  the  threatened  fatherland.  It  will  be 
long  ere  the  whining  cant  of  some  fossil  bigot,  or 
the  vagrant  utterances  of  a  discarded  politician, 
even  though  he  be  dubbed  a  knight,  shall  suffice  to 
make  Canada  forget  tliese  historic  facts. 

Morgan  and  George  were  received  with  hearty 
salutations;  the  former  was  now  a  lieutenant. 
George  was  acquainted  with  many  of  tliose  present, 
and  felt  himself  quite  at  home. 

At  nine  o'clock  a  trumpet  sounded  without ;  it 
was  the  signal  of  the  arrival  of  the  guest  of  the 
evening.  The  guard  at  the  door  presented  arms, 
the  band  outside  struck  up  "Vive  la  Canadienne," 
and  four  pianos  in  the  reception-room  pealed  forth 
a  lively  welcome.  An  elderly  man,  tall,  slim,  and 
of  noble  carriage,  entered.  His  look  of  intelli- 
gence gleamed  from  eyes  whose  lustre  age  had  not 
dimmed;  his  brow  was  massive,  and  his  whole 
appearance  denoted  a  man  of  suj)erior  intellect. 
Yet  he  had  not  that  supercilious  cast  of  counte- 
nance too  often  observable  on  men  who  are  a  trifle 
more  learned  than  their  fellows.  This  arrogant 
appearance  is  at  once  a  mark  of  a  defective  educa- 
tion :  its  possessor  may  know  more  than  some  per- 
14* 


822 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


fl 


^ 


<i 


sons  do,  but  his  knowledge  is  far  below  his  own 
estimate  of  it,  and  his  conceit  takes  the  place  of 
science.  The  truly  learned  is  ever  humble;  he 
never  seeks  to  impress  others  with  an  awe  of  his 
attainments ;  he  never  parades  his  knowledge.  A 
child  may  talk  to  him  of  its  pastimes  and  its 
studies,  and  he  will  listen  as  attentively  and  an- 
swer as  kindly  as  if  addressed  by  the  most  learned. 
He  will  show  a  sympathy  with  its  childish  sports,  and 
quietly  endeavor  to  instruct  while  he  answers.  In 
company,  unless  some  argument  be  brought  around 
by  others  and  he  be  forced  into  it,  you  will  never 
h ..  .i  him  talking  on  subjects  beyond  the  compre- 
hension of  every  one  present.  The  one  thing  which 
moves  him  most  to  indignation  is  to  hear  the  pre- 
tentious chatter  of  persons  who  imagine  themselves 
clever. 

Louis  Veuillot — for  he  it  was  who  now  entered 
the  reception-room — wields  one  of  the  ablest  pens 
in  France.  He  lias  made  a  name  for  himself  in  the 
literature  of  his  country  which  will  live  as  long  as 
the  language  in  which  he  writes.  Foremost  in  the 
journalistic  arena,  he  is  ever  ready  to  uphold  a  just 
cause  or  to  boldly  denounce  an  impiety.  He  had 
come  to  visit  the  Canadian  Circle,  partly  because  it 
was  a  representative  of  New  France,  partly  because 
its  object  was  so  noble. 

A  pleasant  evening  was  passed  by  all  present; 
the  distinguished  guest,  on  parting,  presented  to 
the  library  of  the  Circle  Kohrbach's  "  History  of 
the  Church."  "  it  was,"  he  said,  "  the  most  beauti- 
ful he  could  give,  for  it  contained  history,  philoso- 


AN   UNFINISHED   ONE. 


323 


pliy,  etliics,  and  tlieology."  Those  who  have  read 
it  can  bear  him  out  in  his  estimate  of  tliis  remark- 
able work. 

George  was  deh'glited  at  wliat  he  saw  und  heard ; 
he  went  away  more  proud  of  his  fair  Canada  than 
ever.  "  Surely,"  he  thought,  "surely  a  great  future 
awaits  our  country.  It  lias  territory,  mineral  wealth, 
and  vast  natural  resources ;  but,  above  all,  it  has 
noble  sons.     Surely  its  future  will  be  glorious.'^ 

Surely  it  will,  say  we,  if  its  political  institutions 
be  founded  on  justice  and  religion. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


AN   UNFINISHED   ONE. 


Again  the  rich  clusters  of  grapes  are  being  gath- 
ered on  the  sunny  slopes  of  Albano's  quiet  lake ; 
again  the  rustic  choirs  answer  each  other  from 
neighboring  hill-tops  as  they  chant  an  evening 
hymn  to  the  Madonna.  The  mules  laden  with 
heaped  panniers  slowly  ascend  the  rough  path 
towards  the  main  road,  thence  to  turn  towards 
Albano  or  Marino,  where  their  juicy  load  will  be 
put  into  the  rude  wine-press,  and  trod^^en  by  foot. 
Long  files  of  donkeys  wind  up  the  craggy  brow 
of  the  hill,  each  stepping  into  the  footprints  of  the 
one  immediately  in  front.  One  man  0/  even  one 
well-trained  old  donkey  can  lead  the  whole  line :  in 


824 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


;Mi 


fi'. 


this  particular  they  bear  a  marked  resemblance  to 
political  parties.  The  individuality,  so  to  speak,  of 
each  donkey  is  swallowed  up  by  the  file,  just  as 
party  absorbs  the  individuality  of  the  professional 
politician.  A  Darwinian  might  be  tempted  to  say 
that  parliamentary  institutions  exist  in  embryo 
amongst  these  animals,  and  that  the  modern  "  wliip" 
of  the  Commons  is  but  an  evolution  of  the  bell- 
donkey. 

On  the  broken  hills  of  Montana  the  vines  hud 
produced  an  abundant  yield ;  two  years  have  flown 
since  the  storm  of  war  passed  over  these  regions, 
and  all  is  now  quiet.  It  is  the  October  of  18G9. 
The  Santucci  vineyard  shows  but  few  traces  of  the 
fierce  battle  fought  within  its  walls.  The  "red 
rain"  lit  made,  it  would  seem,  the  vines  flourisli, 
and  caused  the  grapes  to  glow  in  the  bright  sunlight. 
The  light-hearted  vine-dressers  sing  their  simple 
ditties  as  they  work,  much  after  the  fashion  of  their 
remote  ancestors.  Political  changes  in  the  groat 
outer  world  affect  them  not ;  under  the  shadows  of 
their  own  vine  they  have  been  brought  up  in  peace 
and  in  the  fear  of  God ;  under  their  own  vine  tliey 
seek  to  bring  up  their  children  in  a  like  manner. 
Enjoying  in  a  rational  way  what  they  have  got,  not 
desiring  aught  else  in  life,  and  serving  God  with 
simple  faith,  they  are  the  true  philosophers  of  this 
world. 

Two  yearsiiave  passed  since  the  impious  attempt 
was  mad 6  on  Rome  by  the  Garibaldian  hordes. 
Peace  and  plenty  have  smiled  on  the  Roman 
States,  and  the  people  are  prosperous  and  happy. 


AN   UNFINISHED  ONE. 


325 


A  great  event — the  most  important  of  modern  times 
— is  soon  to  take  place :  an  Ecumenical  Council  has 
been  convoked  by  the  Pope,  and  is  to  meet  on  8th 
December  next.  It  is  hailed  with  delight  by  the 
good,  feared  by  the  unsound,  and  cursed  by  the 
impious. 

On  a  bright  day  towards  the  close  of  October, 
1869,  Lorenzo  Aldini  was  wending  his  way  through 
the  shady  grove  of  ilexes  between  Lake  Albano  and 
Marino,  lie  passed  by  the  waters  of  the  Ferentine 
League,  a  spot  renowned  in  early  Roman  history, 
and  quietly  smiled  at  the  vanity  of  human  greatness 
as  he  watched  the  washerwomen  cleansing  soiled 
linen  in  the  historic  waters.  It  was  no  amateur 
dabbling  which  engaged  the  attention  of  these  ma- 
trons: with  a  resounding  plunge  they  would  bury 
the  soiled  article  in  the  stone  basin  of  tlie  fountain, 
whisk  it  sharply  round  a  few  times,  jerk  it  dex- 
terously up  in  a  puffed  heap  on  the  marble  slab, 
give  it  a  few  heavy  blows  with  a  pestle,  wring  it 
once,  shake  it  twice,  and  by  way  of  variety,  and 
as  a  playful  exhibition  of  good-fellowship,  slap  their 
neighbor's  back  with  it,  and  finally  s])read  it  on  a 
boxwood  hedge. 

Lorenzo  did  not  stay  long  watching  this  operation  : 
he  hurried  towards  Marino,  lie  wore  the  dress  of 
a  Zouave ;  looked  more  manly  than  of  yore,  but  not 
so  bright  and  cheerful.  An  anxious  expression  had 
set  its  seal  on  his  features :  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
some  trouble  was  preying  on  his  young  soul. 

"What  can  it  all  mean?"  he  muttered;  "my 
father  dying,  and  sending  for  that  old  Jew  who  es- 


326 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


m 


capcd  us  that  niglit  in  the  Glietto.  I  hiinteu  every- 
where for  that  cunning  Shylock,  and  could  not  dis- 
cover any  traces  of  him ;  and  now  Peppe  tells  mc 
that  he  is  near  my  father  at  liis  request.  There 
mu6;t  be  some  mystery.  I  cannot  distrust  my  father, 
yet  how  explain  liis  connection  with  that  disreputa- 
ble Jew?  lias  he  got  into  pecuniary  difficulties, 
and  fallen  into  the  hands  of  money-lenders?  Better 
that  than  be  connected  in  any  business  matter  of  a 
questionable  nature.  I  can  work  my  way  in  life, 
even  if  he  can  leave  me  nothing.  But  my  mother 
— shall  I  ever  see  her  ?  Am  I  sure  that  she  lives  ? 
Often  have  I  questioned  my  father,  as  much  as  I  a 
son  should  ;  but  he  has  always  managed  to  evade  my 
questions  without  seeming  to  do  so.  Now  he  will 
tell  me  all." 

With  a  nervous  step  Lorenzo  mounted  the  steep, 
craggy  ascent  from  the  valley  of  the  Ferentiue 
waters  to  the  town  of  Marino ;  it  is  shorter  than  the 
commodious  way  cut  by  order  of  Pius  IX.  On 
reaching  his  father's  house  he  met  Peppe  at  the 
door,  and  was  informed  by  that  faithful  servant 
that  his  father  was  ill — was  dying.  He  had  asked 
for  a  priest,  and  had  on  his  arrival  called  Peppe  and 
two  other  servants  into  the  room,  and  in  their  pres- 
ence told  the  priest  that  he  had  done  a  grievous  wrong 
to  some  persons — not  for  love  of  money  nor  through 
hatred,  and  that  before  beginning  his  confession  he 
wished  to  prove  the  sincerity  of  his  sorrow.  Hold- 
ing up  a  document  in  his  own  handwriting,  he  said 
that  it  would  right  the  wrong  as  far  as  it  was  now 
possible  to  right  it.    It  would  be  given  to  his 


AN   UNFINISHED  ONE. 


327 


son  on  liis  arrival,  and  then  liis  reparation  would 
begin.  Having  said  this  ho  dismissed  the  servants, 
and  remained  for  a  long  time  witli  the  priest.  He 
had  received  all  the  sacraments  of  the  Church ; 
"hence  I  suppose,"  said  Peppe,  "the  priest  must 
have  thought  the  document  as  reparatory  as  it  was 
possible  for  it  to  be." 

Peppe  poured  forth  all  this  with  the  rapidity  of 
a  true  Italian,  helping  himself  with  gestures  of 
hands,  shoulders,  and  face.  It  was  told  whilst  Lo- 
renzo was  walking  from  the  door  to  his  father's 
sick-room.  On  entering  this  latter  apartment  Lo- 
renzo started  as  his  eye  caught  sight  of  the  ghastly 
countenance  of  his  parent.  Propped  up  with  pil- 
lows, the  old  man  half  sat,  half  reclined ;  the  chill 
damp  of  death  was  already  on  his  brow ;  its  mean- 
ingless stare  was  already  in  his  glassy  orbs.  Great 
tears  welled  up  to  the  eyes  of  Lorenzo  as  he  cast 
his  arms  around  the  dying  old  man,  and  kissed  his 
chilly  forehead.  In  that  moment  the  remembrance 
of  all  his  father's  care  and  love  for  himself  started 
up,  as  it  were,  in  one  focal  point,  and  appealed  to 
all  his  finer  sensibilities. 

*'  Father,  dear  father,  I  am  almost  too  late,  but  I 
came  as  soon  as  I  could.  Do  you  know  me  ?  Speak 
to  me  one  word!     I  am  thy  son  Loreiii><v  ' 

A  light,  faint  as  a  moonbeam  seen  athwart  a  fleecy 
cloud  on  an  autumn  night,  gleamed  in  the  old  man's 
glassy  eyes  at  the  mention  of  tiie  word  "  Lorenzo ;" 
he  shuddered  visibly,  and  then  the  momentary 
shimmering  went  out,  leaving  only  the  meaningless 
stare. 


If 


ilh 


am 


328 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


"  My  father,  speak  one  word  only :  say  you  bless 
mo — say  you  pardon  me." 

Again  the  light  appeared,  but  somewhat  brighter ; 
the  lips  moved,  and  as  Lorenzo  bent  his  ear  ho 
caught  the  smothered  nmttering,  "Pa  i — yes — 
God  has  par — d — me." 

"  But  pardon  me,  your  son  Lorenzo." 

"  Lorenzo — where  ?     Who — took — ^him  ?" 

"  I  am  here,  dear  father :  I  hold  your  hands ;  1 
kiss  your  brow ;  I  thank  you  for  all  your  kindness." 

With  a  wild  start  the  dying  man  raised  himself 
up  in  bed ;  his  glassy  eyes  sparkled  for  an  instant, 
and  then  the  old  half-remorseful,  half -wistful  look 
of  greedy  love  came  over  his  features  as  he  recog- 
nized Lorenzo. 

"Ah!  Lorenzo,  forgive  me — say  yo  "give  nic 
— she  has  said  so  already." 

"  Dear  father,  I  forgive  anything,  everything,  that 
I  have  to  f-^rgive;  only  love  and  kindness  have  I 
experienced  at  your  hands." 

"  I  am  dying,  Lorenzo ;  I  have  made  reparation 
as  far  as  I  could;  the  paper  is  yonder;  believe  it; 
I  loved  you  too  well — too  well  to  stand  before  you 
and  tell  the  tale,  and  hear  your  curse  on  my 
wretched  head.  But  you  forgive;  even  after  death 
you  will  not  curse  me  ?"  he  cried  wildly,  as  he  grasped 
Lorenzo's  arm. 

The  unusual  light  was  fast  dying  out  of  his  eyes; 
the  rigidity  of  death  was  fast  coming  over  his 
features  as  he  muttered : 

"  Read — it — be — lieve — it — seek  her." 

"  Seek  whom  ?  seek  where  ?"  questioned  Lorenzo. 


/ 


AN    UNFINISHED   ONE. 


329 


"Your — motli — er — pardon — O   God!    pardon." 

The  liglit  went  out;  tlie  glassy  eyes  are  meaning- 
less enough  now  in  their  fixed  stare;  the  rigidity  of 
death  has  set  its  cold  seal  on  every  feature.  The 
earthly  tahernaele  of  Giovanni  Aldini's  trouhled 
spirit  is  an  inert  mass;  the  spirit  itself  has  passed 
before  its  Judge. 

So  intent  had  been  Lorenzo  on  the  state  of  his 
dying  father  that  he  liad  not  noticed  who  was  in  the 
room.  lie  did  not  see  the  long,  matted,  grayish-white 
hair  and  pinched  countenance  of  the  old  Jew  Ezra, 
whom  he  had  been  seeking  many  a  day.  Busied 
about  the  couch  of  the  dead,  he  did  not  observe  the 
old  scoundrel  quietly  openiii'^  a  writing-desk  on  the 
table,  taking  from  it  a  document,  and  stealthily 
gliding  from  the  room.  Peppe  only  saw  the  de- 
parture, and  felt  glad  that  he  was  gone,  little  dream- 
ing how  much  Lorenzo  would  have  given  to  detain 
him. 

When  the  first  duties  to  the  dead  had  been  per- 
formed Lorenzo  went  to  the  writing-desk  and  over- 
looked its  contents.  Accounts,  receipts,  business 
memoranda,  all  were  there  in  order;  also  a  will 
leaving  all  his  property  and  money,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  some  charitable  bequests,  and  legacies  to  his 
servants,  and  a  life  portion  to  Peppe,  to  "  him  who 
has  been  known  for  many  years  as  my  son,  Lorenzo 
Aldini." 

This  perplexed  Lorenzo,  and  the  absence  of  any 
explanation  or  revelation,  as  his  father's  words  had 
led  him  to  expect,  puzzled  him  still  more. 

When  the  funeral  was  over,  he  made,  with  the  as- 


II 


330 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


sistance  of  Peppe,  a  thorough  search,  but  could  find 
nothing  of  the  kind. 

Perhaps  the  old  Jew  Ezra,  as  he  chuckled  over 
his  bundle  of  rags  in  the  Ghetto,* could  have  told  him 
of  its  whereabouts. 


CHAPTER   XXI. 


A   DISCOVERY. 


The  filthy  alleys  of  the  Ghetto  are  slippery  with 
mud,  and  thickly  bestrewn  with  rags  of  various 
hue  and  in  every  stage  of  mouldy  decomposition. 
In  some  the  bright  tints  are  just  a  trifle  subdued ; 
in  others  all  former  colors  are  blended  in  a  dull 
gray ;  whilst  in  others  again,  texture  and  shade  are 
alike  resolved  into  a  spongy  mildew. 

Strips  of  decaying  felt  are  rotting  side  by  side 
with  what  was  once  the  spruce  hat  of  a  Roman 
count ;  so  shapeless  and  dilapidated  is  it  now,  that 
it  is  as  difficult  to  classify  in  the  genus  human  ap- 
parel as  are  troglodytes  in  the  scale  of  civilization. 
Its  't  shining  nap  has,  like  the  down  on  the 
cri  '  3d  wing  of  a  butterfly,  been  turned  to  murky 
dust. 

Tufts  of  rabbit-fur,  chips  of  horn,  patches  of 
goat-skin,  and  bits  of  broken  umbrella-frames  lie 
hopelessly  inert  in  the  sticky  mud ;  whilst  vagrant 
horse-hairs,  surreptitiously  escaped  from  some  old 
cushion,  are  apparently  intent  on  making  a  series 


A    DISCOVERY. 


331 


of  "  calls"  on  the  firbt-named  objects.  The  sluggish 
breeze,  which  is  laden  with  the  noxious  air  of  this 
quarter  of  the  city,  drives  them  on  from  one  to  the 
other. 

A  troop  of  ill-clad  urchins,  bow-legged,  dirty,  and 
cadaverous,  are  in  keeplr.g  with  the  dismal  lethargy 
of  the  place,  as  they  squat  quietly  down  on  broken 
doorsteps,  as  if  oppressed  by  the  glaring  of  rudely 
sculptured  Gorgons  on  the  arch  of  the  doorway. 

Desolation  and  ruin  are  the  characteristics  of  the 
Ghetto  when  seen  at  its  best — that  is,  by  the  soften- 
ing light  of  an  October  moon ;  squalor  and  grime 
are  its  leading  features  on  a  cheerless  November 
morning.  It  is  these  which  make  it  an  exceptional 
locality,  and  sharply  mark  it  off  from  tlie  rest  of 
Rome. 

Yet  this  uninviting  quarter  has  its  charms :  its 
narrow  alleys  and  blind  lanes  breathe  a  pristine  sim- 
plicity of  manner,  and  bear  witness  to  the  recent 
birth  of  city  architects,  whilst  its  winding  streets 
and  crazy  tenements  are  the  embodiment  of  poetic 
fancy.  If  there  be  one  feature  more  disagreeable 
than  another  in  a  "  modern"  city,  it  is  the  monotony 
of  long,  wide,  unbroken  streets  gaping  idiotically, 
like  Medusan  heads  from  a  palace  front.  Under 
the  glare  and  flare  of  a  midsummer  sun  the  luckless 
footpad  must  crawl,  half  melting,  along  these  inter- 
minable streets,  confused  by  the  wild  rush  of  cabs, 
busses,  and  cars ;  stifled  with  the  odor  of  blistering 
paint,  and  blinded  with  dust,  until  sunstroke  or  a 
butcher's  cart  mercifully  puts  an  end  to  his  earthly 
sufferings.    Hard  utilitarianism  has  destroyed  the 


Hi; 


832 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


poetry  of  our  towns,  and  put  to  flight  the  spirit  of 
romance  which  erst  lurked  in  shady  corners  and 
winding  lanes.  But  the  wild  freedom  of  the  Ghetto, 
its  picturesqueness  and  its  old-time  look,  redeem  its 
disadvantages,  and  almost  beautify  its  dirt. 

It  is  a  dreary  November  morning,  damp  and  chill. 
The  rag-shops  of  the  Glietto  are  open,  and  each  cold 
gust  of  wind,  as  it  hurries  alon.  whirls  a  cloud  of 
dust  from  every  open  door.  Whence  comes  this 
dust?  The  ripping,  tearing,  and  assorting  of  old 
clothes  within  till  the  pent-up  atmosphere  of  the 
dingy  shops  with  mouldy  dust,  and  the  heartless 
breeze  hurtles  it  away.  On  it  speeds  to  other  scenes 
of  action,  to  descend,  perhaps,  in  a  gentle  shower  on 
a  bed  of  young  cavoli,  and  to  be  sucked  up  and  as- 
similated by  these  plants.  Thus  it  may  come  to  puss 
that  the  ragpicker  who  now  impatiently  curses  the 
dust  which  his  work  produces,  may  three  months 
hence  gladly  eat  it  under  another  form.  Others 
than  ragpickers  might  take  a  hint  from  this. 

Old  Ezra  is  seated  in  the  centre  of  the  room  in 
which  we  first  made  his  acquaintance.  Though 
well  known  to  the  police  as  an  accomplice  of  the 
members  of  the  secret  societies,  he  was  allowed  to 
return  to  his  shop  after  the  rout  of  the  Garibaldiaiis. 
His  expression  is  more  hideous  than  of  yore,  his 
eyes  more  sunken,  his  chin  more  protruding,  his 
nose  more  hooked  and  pointed.  The  gleam  of  ava- 
rice is  even  keener  than  formerly  in  his  cunning 
eye,  and  his  every  movement  more  full  of  distrust. 

As  he  sits  surrounded  by  rags  and  dirt,  with  every 
quality  which  can  ennoble  a  man  destroyed,  or  sub- 


A  DISCOVERY. 


333 


jected  to  the  sway  of  senseless  greed,  he  might  be 
taken  for  a  grotesque  figure  made  to  represent  a 
demon  miser.  Looking  upon  him,  it  would  be  im- 
possible for  Darwin  himself  to  ever  after  talk  about 
a  law  of  "  progressive  development." 

He  sits  in  the  dim  twiliglit  of  the  filthy  room,  in 
the  damp  morning  air,  ever  and  anon  blowing  his 
bony  fingers  to  keep  them  warm,  and  muttering 
complacently  to  himself.  His  dirty-gray  locks  are 
matted  with  two  more  years  of  dust  and  sweat,  and 
his  talon-shaped  nails  are  perfectly  hideous  with 
dirt.  His  greasy  nightcap  is  one  mass  of  rotten 
shreds  and  rude  stitches  ;  no  darning,  how  deft  so- 
ever it  might  be,  could  bind  together  the  decom- 
posing threads.  Rents  and  patches  and  dangling 
ends  of  cloth  are  the  only  perceptible  features  of 
his  attire .  it  would  be  hard  to  say  wh'^re  the  coat 
ends,  harder  to  guess  where  the  vest  begins.  A 
broken  boot  and  a  heelless  shoe  are  the  protectors  of 
his  stockingless  feet. 

Yet  this  wretch  has  money,  and  he  longs  for 
more ;  the  demon  of  avarice  has  possession  of  his 
soul,  and  he  toils,  plots,  and  hungers  after  money — 
money  that  he  will  never  use,  money  that  he  will 
never  employ  to  assuage  a  human  ill  or  to  dry  an 
orphan's  tear. 

In  less  degraded  forms,  it  may  be,  but  still  with 
hearts  as  flinty  as  old  Ezra's,  and  with  souls  as  gro- 
velling, do  wo  meet  with  his  fellow-misers  every 
day.  Hopes  of  heaven  are  bartered  for  riches 
which  are  hoarded  till  death ;  tlien  an  unthankful 
heir  seizes  the  rich  possession,  and  only  uses  it  to 


334 


AFTER  WEARY  TEARS. 


BIS 


hurry  himself  more  swiftly  to  join  the  dead  miser 
in  the  gloomy  regions  of  everlasting  wail. 

A  clattering  sound  arrests  the  attention  of  old 
Ezra ;  and  ere  he  has  had  time  to  speculate  on  its 
cause,  a  bent  figure,  enveloped  in  a  thick  cloak,  witli 
feet  encased  in  wooden  shoes,  and  head  roofed  in 
with  a  stiff  brown  felt  hat,  enters  by  the  open  door, 
and  deposits  on  a  rickety  table  a  basket  of  lettuce  and 
cichoria,  which  lie  had  been  carrying  swung  from 
the  neck. 

Ezra  started  up  and  looked  suspiciously  towards 
the  intruder.  The  latter  made  a  deprecatory  motion 
with  his  hands  in  token  of  his  pacific  intentions,  and 
in  the  chopped  language  of  the  lower  classes  said : 

"  Sor  Ezra,  can  I  sell  you  some  fresh  lettuce  ?" 

"  No,  you  can't,"  snapped  Ezra. 

"Just  look  at  this  bunch,"  persisted  the  vender; 
"  or  perhaps  you  love  cichoria  /  here  we  are  with 
an  article  which  Julius  Caesar  himself  might  have 
eaten  for  his  supper.  "What  do  you  say  to  this,  Sor 
Ezra  ?" 

"  I  say  begone,"  again  snapped  Ezra. 

"  Corpo  di  Trajano  !  but  you  are  cross  this  morn- 
ing. Have  the  rags  fallen  in  price,  or  have  the  police 
been  molesting  you  ?  But  you  are  safe  now,  my  dear 
fellow ;  your  past  complicity  with  Capodiavolo  will 
be  overlooked  provided  you  keep  quiet  in  future." 

"  Who  the  devil  are  you,  and  why  do  you  rave 
about  Capodiavolo?"  snarled  Ezra. 

"  Easy  now,  easy,  caro  mio ;  none  but  friends  are 
within  hearing :  I  know  all  about  it.  That  was  a 
clever  trick  you  played  the  patrol  by  jumping  down 


A   DISCOVERY. 


335 


the  hatchway  into  the  river.    It  was  neatly  done, 
per  Bacco !" 

"  How  did  you  learn  my  name,  and  how  did  you 
learn  anything  about  me?"  questioned  Ezra. 

"  How  did  I  learn !  This  is  fine !  How  did  I 
learn !     Oh,  I  know  all — I  know  all." 

It  would  be  impossible  to  adequately  describe  the 
various  gestures  of  the  herb-vender  as  he  said  this. 
Open-eyed  astonishment  shone  from  every  feature, 
and  leaped  from  the  upturned  palms  of  his  hands  as 
he  said  "  How  did  I  learn  I"  Incredulous  sarcasm 
gleamed  on  his  countenance,  and  was  wrung  out 
from  his  clasped  hands  as  he  exclaimed,  "This  is 
fine !"  But  the  mingled  look  of  perfect  frankness, 
wary  caution,  and  half-rising  indignation  which  his 
face  expressed,  and  his  shrugging  shoulders  and  trem- 
bling hands  emphasized  when  he  repeated  "  I  know 
all — I  know  all,"  was  a  masterpiece  of  pantomimic 
art.  Seeing,  as  he  concluded,  the  changed  look  in 
Ezra's  eyes,  he  grasped  his  unresisting  hand  and 
shook  it  heartily. 

"  No  need  of  these  herbs  now,"  said  the  pretended 
vender  ;  "  we  can  talk  without  them.  What  news 
from  the  societies  ?" 

"We  are  organizing  as  quickly  as  possible,"  an- 
swered Ezra,  "  but  I  fear  nothinjr  can  be  done  this 
winter.  The  Council,  it  seems,  will  surely  meet 
next  month." 

"  Well,  well,"  added  the  vender,  "  something  may 
be  made  out  of  the  crowd  of  strangers  who  will  be 
sure  to  come  to  Rome  during  the  winter.  Is  not 
that  the  case  r 


'Jl» 


336 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


:»«l 


itL 


"  Certainly,"  assented  Ezra. 

For  a  time  the  herb-vender  was  silent,  but  soon 
began  to  speak. 

"Perhaps  you  wonder  who  I  am  and  whence  I 
come  ?  Quite  natural,"  he  continued,  in  answer  to 
the  nod  of  Ezra.  "  I  am  from  Marino,  and  used  to 
work  frequently  for  Signer  Aldini.  But  he  is  now 
dead,  poor  fellow." 

"Yes,  I  know  he  is,"  said  Ezra. 

"What!  Were  you  acquainted  with  Giovanni 
Aldini  ?" 

"  For  many  a  long  year,  and  helped  him  in  some 
delicate  affairs." 

"  Well,  well !"  mused  the  vender  with  an  appear- 
ance of  indifference,  but  with  a  keen  eye  on  Ezra. 
"  We  move  in  a  circle,  and  do  not  know  with  wliom 
we  may  meet.  Give  me  your  hand  again,  my  brave 
Ezra.  So  you  knew  Signer  Aldini,  and  of  course 
his  son  Lorenzo?" 

"  His  son  ?  Oil,  yes,  I  knew  the  boy  Lorenzo," 
said  Ezra,  and  shrugged  his  shrunken  shoulders. 

"  I  hear  that  Lorenzo  is  very  anxious  about  a 
paper  which  has  disappeared  most  mysteriously ;  lie 
would  give  a  large  sum  to  procure  it." 

"How  much?" 

"Qui  mi  casca  I'asino''  ("H'^re  my  donkey  fails 
me"),  said  the  vender.  By  this  humorous  expression 
lie  intended  to  convey  the  intelligence  that  he  did 
not  know. 

"  Find  out,"  said  Ezra,  "  and  if  he  promises  a 
good  sum,  offer  to  find  it  for  him." 

"  Easy  to  offer,  my  dear  fellow,  but  how  can  I  find 


MYSTERIOUS   POWER. 


337 


Tiovanni 


in  some 


it  ?  Moreover,  he  will  not  pay  without  having  first 
received  the  document." 

"Trust  to  me,"  said  Ezra,  with  a  wicked  leer; 
"  extract  a  promise  for  a  thousand  scudi,  and  come 
to  me." 

Here  the  old  scoundrel  blinked  and  leered,  and 
clawed  the  air  with  his  bony  fingers,  as  if  already 
clutching  the  coveted  gold. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  have  it !  I  am 
in  luck  this  morning.  Well,  well  I  I  will  see  about 
this  at  once,  and  return  to  you  as  soon  as  possible. 
Good-by — till  we  meet,"  said  the  smiling  vender 
as  he  grasped  his  basket  and  waved  his  fingers  (not 
his  hand)  to  the  old  Jew. 

When  he  reached  a  corner  he  left  the  basket  at  a 
stall,  cast  off  his  wooden  shoes,  threw  aside  his  hat 
and  cloak,  and  stepped  gayly  along  in  the  dress  of  a 
Zouave,  and  to  all  mortal  seeming  was  Peppe. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


MYSTERIOUS     POWER. 

It  may  be  a  trite  remark  to  say  that  we  know  but 
little  ;  still  it  is  a  most  unusual  thing  for  any  one  to  , 
be  fully  convinced  of  the  truth  of  the  observation. 
Many  doubtless  will  admit  it,  with  one  notable  ex- 
ception, to  be  applicable  to  all  mankind — themselves 
constitute  the  exception.     The  human  mind  natu* 

16 


■..4 


S38 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


rally  desires  to  know ;  the  desire  is  often  thought  to 
hold  the  place  of  knowledge. 

Few,  on  reflection,  will  deny  that  there  are  many 
truths  which  lie  outside  the  limits  of  the  human 
understanding ;  truths  which  fall  not  within  the 
range  of  the  most  powerfully  created  intellectual 
telescope ;  truths  which,  so  to  speak,  are  shrouded  in 
an  impenetrable  night.  Even  in  the  natural  order  we 
are  not  unlike  persons  engaged  in  a  game  of  blind- 
man's-bujff  when  we  come  to  investigate  the  laws 
of  animal  and  vegetable  life.  The  first  object  whicli 
falls  under  the  senses,  viz.,  Matter,  is  a  stumbling- 
block.  What  is  it ?  "A  compound  substance," 
complacently  replies  a  philosopher  whose  scientiiic 
down  is  giving  evidence  of  a  sickly  sprouting  in  the 
near  future.  If  it  be  "  compound,"  its  components 
must  exist,  and  hence  it  would  follow  that  there 
must  be  simple  substances.  Now  composition  can- 
not affect  the  essence  of  the  substance :  it  would  be 
just  as  correct  to  call  a  brick  wall  a  compound  brick, 
as  to  call  a  mass  of  matter  a  compound  substance ; 
strictly,  therefore,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  com- 
pound substance.  It  is  a  conventional  term,  em- 
ployed to  cloak  the  ignorance  of  self-styled  philoso- 
phers. 

Again,  the  term  extension  is  hurled  at  our  de- 
voted heads  in  text-books  and  in  philosophic  treat 
ises.  It  is  explained  as  meaning  that  all  bodies 
occupy  space.  If  you  ask  what  is  space,  you  will 
be  told  that  it  is  the  capacity  of  containing  bodies. 
This  is  the  circle  in  whicli  the  reasoning  whirls 
round.     Men  build  themselves  what  they  call  a  sci- 


''flj 


MYSTERIOUS  POWER. 


339 


entific  system,  and  ask  us  to  believe  it  the  work  of 
tlie  Most  Higli. 

God  is  the  infinite  living  truth  and  power :  "  in 
Him  we  live  and  move  and  have  our  being';''  not 
confused  with  Him,  nor  with  one  another,  but  dis- 
tinct and  diverse  realities,  dependent  on  the  great 
reality — God.  By  reason  of  our  finite  nature  we 
can  grasp,  understand,  or  be  cognizant  of  only  a 
limited  number  of  truths  or  realities.  The  relation 
which  visible  objects  have  to  us  causes  us  to  form 
to  ourselves  a  ratio  of  distances  which  is  purely 
imaginary.  Thus  the  idea  of  extension  is  begotten 
of  our  limitation  in  the  order  of  being.  God  being 
infinite,  is  in  immediate  relation  Avith  every  finite 
reality ;  hence  before  Him  there  is  no  extension. 
But  things  are  before  Him  in  their  truth ;  conse- 
quently space  or  extension  there  is  none,  except  in 
the  idea  of  man.  One  scarcely  knows  whether  to 
bemoan  the  loss  of  the  fancied  billions  of  miles 
about  which  astronomers  reason,  or  to  rejoice  at  the 
fact  that  since  space  is  only  imaginary,  the  ideal 
power  of  man  by  which  he  can  build  up  vastly 
extended  planetary  orbits  must  be  potent  indeed. 
In  any  case,  whilst  sound  philosophy  proves  the 
reality  of  visible  creation,  it  likewise  proves  that 
the  dearly  hugged  notion  of  real  extension  is  only  a 
fallacy. 

If,  then,  the  human  intellect  when  left  to  its  owm 
investig-ations  is  liable  to  err  in  reasonino;  about  what 
may  be  called  primary  principles,  how  much  more 
readily  may  we  not  concede  it  to  be  at  fault  when 
striving  to  explain  recondite  conclusions  ?     We  are 


I 


340 


AF'TEIt  WtiARlr   ttlAftS. 


no  advocates  of  scepticism  :  this  is  the  absurdity  of 
weak  minds.  Reason,  properly  applied,  can  know 
many  things  with  certainty,  and  Divine  Faith 
teaches  many  truths.  But  in  the  vast  field  of  hu- 
man speculation  the  unknown  and  the  inexplicable 
far  outnumber  the  subjects  known  with  certainty. 

To  persons  little  given  to  habits  of  thought  it 
may  sound  strange,  nay,  impious  perhaps  and  ab- 
surd, to  hear  it  advanced  that  there  is  some  mysteri- 
ous power  by  which  one  soul  may  act  in  life  on 
another.  Yet  material  forces  undoubtedly  exercise 
a  reciprocal  action :  why  may  not  spiritual  ones  do 
as  much?  Attraction  and  repulsion  are  verified 
in  the  world  of  matter:  why  may  not  the  same 
hold  good  between  spirits?  How  often  have  we 
met  persons  who  won  our  sympathy  instantane- 
ously ?  Our  judgment  and  reason  had  no  hand  in 
the  act,  because  it  was  prior  to  all  reflection,  j^ut 
some  cause  must  be  assigned  for  the  effect;  may 
we  not  say  that  soul  acted  on  soul  and  found  a  sym- 
pathetic chord  ? 

Lorenzo  Aldini  was  not  speculating  on  such  ques- 
tions as  these  as  he  travelled  by  railway  on  the  1st 
of  December,  1869,  from  Naples  to  Rome.  His 
thoughts  were  personal,  and  as  such  thoughts  often 
are,  gloomy.  He  was  sorely  troubled  at  what  he 
had  heard  from  his  father's  dying  lips — troubled 
because  he  was  at  a  loss  how  to  act.  "  Seek  her," 
continually  rung  in  his  ears;  but  where  or  how? 
The  document  which  alone  could  throw  light  on 
the  affair  was  lost  or  stolen.  True,  Peppe  had  dis- 
covered that  the  old  Jew  Ezra  either  had  it   or 


MYSTERIOUS   POWER. 


341 


knew  where  it  was.  But  this  unconscionable  wretch, 
owing  to  his  being  wanted  by  tlie  police,  had  left 
his  quarters  in  the  Ghetto  and  could  not  be  found. 
What  could  he  do?  He  knew  his  mother  lived, 
but  this  rather  added  to  his  o^rief.  Were  she  with 
the  saints  in  heaven,  he  could  raise  up  his  heart  to 
her  and  feel  himself  bound  to  her  more  sweetly 
and  closely.  But  to  know  that  she  was  on  earth, 
grieving,  doubtless,  for  his  loss,  and  vainly  looking 
for  his  return,  was  misery  indeed. 

A  thousand  times  he  asked  himself  the  question, 
"  Why  did  they  part  ?"  but  could  find  no  satisfac- 
tory answer.  At  times  a  fretful  motion  of  anger 
against  his  father  would  rise  in  his  heart,  but  was 
repressed  as  soon  as  noticed.  '•  No :  come  what 
may,  my  father  meant  well,  and  was  kind  to  me ;  I 
will  not  be  unkind  to  his  memory."  This  was  his 
reflection  whenever  he  found  hard  feelings  being 
enofendered  a£»-ainst  Giovanni  Aklini.  The  remeni- 
brance  of  the  lavish  love  experienced  from  the  dead 
parent  and  his  yearning  for  the  living  one  would 
often  come  in  conflict  in  his  soul,  and  seem  to  rend 
him  in  twain.  His  was  indeed  a  desolate  state,  in 
which-  two  strong,  yet  tender  passions,  viz.,  grati- 
tude to  a  father  and  love  for  a  mother,  were  pitted 
against  each  other,  but  ever  held  apart  by  a  deep 
religious  motive.  "I  must  love  both,  and  condemn 
neither,"  was  his  oft-i-'^peated  cry. 

To  divert  his  painful  thoughts  into  another  chan- 
nel, he  took  out  the  photograph  given  him  by  his 
father,  and  gazv.d  wistfully  at  the  childish  face.  It 
was  covered  by  a  glass  set  in  an  old-fashioned  frame. 


n|BM|||jn| 


I 


842 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


Finding  tlie  glass  loose,  he  took  it  out  in  an  absent 
way,  and  removed  the  picture.  On  its  reverse  were 
faintly  traceable  a  scrawl  with  pen  and  ink,  as  if  the 
fair  child  had  striven  to  write  her  name,  and  some 
printed  letters.  Of  the  latter  he  could  only  deci- 
pher R.  E.  A.  L.  Perhaps  these  might  yet  serve 
as  a  clew  to  the  mystery  ;  he  would  show  them  tu 
Pc])pe  on  his  arrival  in  Kome. 

Having  replaced  the  picture  and  glass,  he  was 
about  to  close  the  locket,  when  he  became  aware 
of  being  observed  by  two  ladies  who  sat  near  him. 
One  was  elderly,  with  a  half-sad,  half-pensive  ex- 
pression, and  a  sweet,  calm  trust  in  her  dreamy  eyes. 
The  other  Avas  young,  and  of  charming  appearance 
in  her  pure  womanly  beauty.  Lorenzo's  glance  fell 
for  an  instant  on  the  two,  and  an  undelina]>le  sen- 
sation was  excited  in  his  soul.  What  was  it?  lie 
seemed  to  know  both,  and  yet  their  faces  were 
strange.  He  seemed  to  love  both,  and  yet  how  dif- 
ferently !  Deep  sympathetic  love  with  the  pensive 
motherly  lady  filled  his  heart ;  respectful  admini- 
tion,  and  a  feeling  which  he  could  not  define  nor  ana- 
lyze, but  which  awoke  an  unknown  thrill  of  pleas- 
ure, was  what  he  experienced  in  regard  to  her  youth- 
ful companion.  For  the  first  time  in  -"'ly  months 
the  thought  of  his  own  tron  .as  banished  from 
his  mind.  But  only  for  aioment.  he  open 
locket  still  in  his  hand  brougi.  it  back  to  his  memory. 
He  gazed  again  on  the  sweet  clii  ]-face  and  trem- 
bled with  emotion.  What  resemblance  did  he  no^' 
detect  to  one  whom  he  had  seen  ?  Oh,  where  had 
he  seen  these  features,  enlarged  it  is  true,  but  still 


MYSTERIOUS    POWKK. 


348 


wearing  that  quiet  smile  of  heavenly  peace  and 
trusting  love?  He  was  in  a  tumult  of  emotion. 
He  felt  that  he  was  on  the  point  of  making  a  dis- 
covery, but  as  yet  he  knew  not  what.  The  studious 
youth  who  endeavors  to  solve  a  difficult  problem 
feels,  as  he  approaclies  a  solution,  that  he  is  uner- 
ringly nearing  the  goal  of  his  ambition,  although 
the  answer  be  still  unknown.  This  was  Lorenzo's 
state,  as  with  throbbing  temples,  short-coming 
breath,  and  a  wild  excitement  of  feeling  he  viewed 
the  oft-gazed-on  picture.  An  exclamation  from 
one  of  the  passengers  caused  him  to  look  up ;  un- 
consciously his  glance  fell  upon  the  young  lady 
already  mentioned.  A  Hash  of  light  was  let  in 
on  his  soul ;  his  tumultuous  emotions  were  checked ; 
the  problem  was  solved.  There  could  be  no  mis- 
taking the  identity.  He  held  in  his  hand  the  pic- 
ture, taken  years  ago,  of  that  fair  girl  who  sat 
beside  the  half-sad,  half-pensive  matron.  His 
father's  words  rang  in  his  ears — "  If  ever  you  meet, 
either  in  this  country  or  elsewhere,  the  original  of 
this  picture,  try  to  win  her  for  your  wife ;  my  bless- 
ing on  such  a  union." 

He  had  now  met  the  original,  and  it  needed  not 
the  remembrance  of  Giovanni  Aldini's  advice  to 
make  him  resolve  to  win  her  if  he  could  for  his  wife. 
Already  every  sympathy  of  his  soul  had  gone  out 
towards  her ;  already  a  mysterious  power  swept 
over  the  chords  of  his  emotions  and  attuned  them 
into  harmony  with  hers.  As  for  one  swift  instant 
his  eyes,  as  she  turned  to  gaze  oui  at  the  distant 
spires  of  Rome,  looked  into  hers,  his  soul  seemed  to 


344 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


f  M 

•  Mi 


reach  her  gentle  spirit,  and  to  have  found  its  good 
angel  on  earth. 

For  this  is  what  woman  ought  to  be — man's 
"helper  like  unto  himself;"  "his  helper"  in  the 
things  of  earth,  and  on  the  road  to  heaven ;  "  his 
helper"  in  the  care  and  burden  of  life,  not  by  bear- 
ing herself  the  load,  but  by  cheering  him  with  her 
kindly  sympathy ;  by  removing  the  little  causes  of 
irritation,  often  harder  to  be  endured  by  man  than 
real  afflictions ;  by  shedding  joy  and  peace  around 
his  home.  Ilightly  or  wrongly,  man  looks  to  her 
to  preserve  her  self-respect  and  to  cause  him  to 
hold  it  sacred;  he  expects  to  find  her  pure  and 
devoted.  He  may  be  quite  unwilling  to  be  driven  by 
her,  but  if  she  be  virtuous  and  possessed  of  any  tact, 
she  can  easily  lead  him  aright.  Would  that  young 
girls  would  think  of  this,  and  consider  what  a  re- 
sponsibility devolves  upon  them.  Let  them  never, 
in  a  moment  of  thoughtless  vanity,  wound,  even  in 
the  slightest  degree,  tlieir  sense  of  maidenly  deli- 
cacy and  decorum  because  some  foppish  nonentity 
may  seem  to  be  pleased  thereby ;  but  let  them  ever 
jealously  guard  these  bright  jewels  if  they  wish  to 
be  loved  by  God  and  revered  by  man.  Let  them 
understand  the  dignity  of  their  mission  in  life,  and 
the  magnetic  power  of  purity.  Strong  by  reason 
of  this  power,  the  Sister  of  Charity  walks  securely 
in  the  filthy  alleys  of  London,  and  draws  murmurs 
of  applause  and  blessings  from  the  lips  of  the  most 
abandoned  rabble.  She  passes  unharmed  and  re- 
spected through  places  which  might  well  serve  as  a 
vestibule  for  hell,  quelling  and  transforming,  for  the 


MYSTERIOUS    POWER. 


345 


time  at  least,  every  heart  by  the  magnetism  of  her 
purity. 

Out  upon  the  brainless  and  vicious  young  men 
"  of  the  day,"  who  seek  to  bring  woman  dowri  to 
their  own  loathsome  level.  Out  upon  those  who 
endeavor  to  familiarize  her  ears  with  the  vuli!:arisms 
of  street  rowdies,  or  to  sap  her  feelings  of  delicacy 
by  urging  her  on  to  take  part  in  what  has  been 
well  called  "  the  dance  of  death,"  viz.,  "  fast  dances." 
Out  upon  the  loose  notions  of  womanly  modesty, 
plainly  taught  or  covertly  insinuated  in  trashy 
novels, — some,  alas!  written  by  women. 

The  rushing  train  was  nearing  Rome,  and  still 
Lorenzo  sat  dividing  his  glances  between  the  pic- 
ture and  its  original.  What  could  he  do?  How 
was  he  to  learn  who  she  was  ?  How  could  he  ob- 
tain an  introduction  to  her  'i  These  thoughts  filled 
his  mind,  and  set  their  impress  on  his  face. 

The  elderly  lady  addressed  her  companion  in  a 
sweetly  subdued  voice,  but  only  fragments  of  sen- 
tences reached  Lorenzo's  ear.  He  heard  "son,'' 
and  "  thinking  of  him,"  and  "  it  must  be  soon  ;'' 
but  that  was  all. 

There  are  times  when  the  soul  is  too  full  of 
thought  to  think :  it  would  fain  reason  out  some 
point.  It  would  fain  lay  down  premises  and  draw 
conclusions,  but  it  is  so  overcharged,  so  to  speak, 
with  thought  that  it  can  only  idly  wonder,  like  a 
boor  gazing  on  the  treasures  of  art  Poor  Lorenzo 
was  in  that  condition  :  he  could  not  think,  although 
he  was  longing  to  do  so. 

The  train  thundered  into  the  station ;  hastily 
15* 


I 


i:-: 


346 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


11 


^ 


■M 


putting  aside  the  locket,  he  prepared  to  alight.  His 
travelling  companions  were  tumbling  out,  as  people 
always  will  do  from  a  train,  just  as  though  their 
lives  depended  on  being  first  out.  He  was  the  last 
to  descend  and  to  his  amazement  caught  sight  of 
Morgan  shaking  hands  first  with  one  then  with  the 
other  of  the  two  ladies  who  had  attracted  his  atten- 
tion. Morgan,  seeing  Lorenzo,  drew  him  in  an  ex- 
cited way  into  the  ])resence  of  his  late  com])anions, 
and  introduced  them  as  "  my  sister  Eleanor,  and 
Mrs.  Barton." 

"Howextraordinarv  !"  lanii-hed  Moro-an  :  "  travel- 
ling  together,  and  yet  not  to  know  each  other  after 
my  description  of  Eleanor  to  you.  Never  mind, 
you  will  soon  be  acrpiainted." 

In  good  sooth,  if  human  countenances  ever  ex- 
pressed the  instincts  of  the  soul,  it  required  no 
prophet  to  foretell  that. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


TUE     VATICAN     COUNCIL. 


George  Makciibank  sat  listenins;  to  the  sweet 
strains  of  the  Benediction  hymn,  Avhicli  floated 
gently  on  the  evening  air  from  the  Convent  of 
"  La  Trinitii  dei  Monti."  This  music  was,  as  we 
saw  before,  most  dear  to  his  heart.  It  had  always 
led  his  mind  heav«Miward,  and  filled  him  with  senti- 
ments of  devotion.     It  had  always  been  strangely 


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347 


)anions. 


blended  witli  the  dying  smile  of  Cardinal  Altieri, 
and  seemed  to  call  him  into  a  brighter  land.  His 
noble  soul  yearned  for  the  high  and  holy  devotional 
practices  of  the  Catholic  Church  :  he  felt  that  in  the 
bosom  of  that  Church  alone  could  he  be  safe — that 
in  it  alone  could  be  found  the  loftiest  ideal  of 
Christian  perfection,  and  the  most  sublime  devotion 
to  duty.  He  had  long  since  seen  the  fallacy  of  the 
claims  of  every  Protestant  sect.  The^f  might  each 
retain  some  fragments  of  the  truth,  but  they  had 
made  shipwreck  of  the  Faith,  and  were  now  like 
persons  washed  ashore  from  a  broken  vessel,  vainly 
clutchino:  at  the  shreds  and  tatters  of  their  once 
beautiful  garments.  They  could  only  be  true  in 
the  impious  supposition  that  Christ  had  failed  in 
His  promise  to  His  Church :  if  they  were  true,  the 
Almightv  must  have  blundered  in  His  work,  and 
left  it  to  be  perfected  by  libertines  like  Luther  and 
Henry  YIII.  He  deplored  the  blindness  of  well- 
meaning  people  who  refused  to  lend  an  ear  to  his- 
toric truth,  but  who  gladly  welcomed  the  most 
arrant  scoui  .^'els  whom  the  Catholic  Church  cut 
off  from  her  comnmnion  because  of  their  crimes. 
He  saw  that  only  the  Roman  Catholic  Church 
could  show  an  unbroken  succession  of  pastors  from 
the  Apostles;  that  only  it  had  unity  of  Faith,  with 
universality  of  diffusion.  For  fifteen  centuries  it 
alone  had  been  the  civiiizer  of  mankind,  the  guar- 
dian of  the  Scriptures,  and  the  dispenser  of  the 
Mysteries  of  God.  Then  a  licentious  monk  re- 
belled :  he  who  publicly  was  known  to  have  broken 
his  solemn  vows  undertook  to  teach  the  a[)[)oiuted 


I 


:■;■;' t 


348 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


.  ■  4?      ■ 


m 


mi 


teacher  of  nations.  A  wife-slaying  King  threw  off 
his  allegiance  to  the  successor  of  St.  Peter,  and  pro- 
claimed himself  the  head  of  the  Anglican  Church. 
Monsters  of  iniquity,  admitted  to  have  been  such 
by  every  educated  person,  are  the  much-talked-of 
"  Reformers"  of  the  sixteenth  century.  George 
Marchbank  felt  that  Christianity  must  be  a  fable 
if  such  instruments  as  these  were  to  be  recognized 
as  divinely  commissioned.  Yet  how  few  outside 
the  pale  of  the  true  Church  will  look  calmly  at 
this  fact.  How  many,  should  these  lines  ever  meet 
their  eyes,  will  gi'ow  indignant  at  the  writer,  and 
rage  against  him,  and  refuse  perhaps  to  read  more. 
Still  he  has  not  painted  the  character  of  the  so- 
called  "  reformers"  in  colors  as  black  as  authentic 
history  presents  them.  An  eternity  of  happiness 
may  depend  on  the  manner  in  which  these  words 
are  read  and  pondered  upon.  There  can  be  but  one 
true  Faith ;  there  can  be  but  one  road  pointed  out 
bv  Christ ;  there  can  be  but  one  trne  Church — the 
bride  and  witness  of  Christ.  It  was  divinely  gifted 
with  an  immunity  from  doctrinal  ^error,  because  it 
was  to  continue  till  the  end  of  time  the  work  begun 
by  the  Saviour.  It  must  then  have  always  taught, 
must  now  .teach,  and  must  continue  to  teach  the 
Truth. 

George  Marchbank  felt  this ;  still  he  remained 
outside.  Like  one  who,  gazing  on  the  imposing 
colonnades,  the  magnificent  fagade,  and  the  tower- 
ing dome  of  St.  Peter's,  and  lost  in  wonder  at  its 
outer  glories,  forgets  to  enter  to  feast  his  eyes 
on  the  inner  beauties  of  that  holy  Temple,  George 


THE   VATICAN   COUNCIL. 


349 


Murchbank  was  as  yet  content  to  contemplate  the 
historic  grandeur  of  our  Cliurch  without  seeking 
to  enter  its  saving  fold.  He  could  not  get  the  all- 
importance  of  its  membership  into  his  head.  At 
times  he  felt  himself  drifting  away  farther  every 
day,  more  inclined  to  let  things  take  their  chance, 
aftd  not  to  care  much  what  should  become  of  him 
here  or  hereafter.  He  was  mentally  sick,  and  to 
his  disordered  vision  the  wretchedness  of  this  life 
and  the  uncertainty  of  the  one  to  come  did  not 
appear  to  be  compensated  by  the  promise  of  being 
made  a  "  child  of  God  and  an  heir  to  the  heavenly 
kingdom."  A  strange  feeling  of  sadness  took  pos- 
session of  his  soul  as  he  gazed  on  an  enchanting 
view  or  a  beautiful  flower,  as  if  his  power  to  appre- 
ciate them  were  incomplete.  And  so,  indeed.  It 
was:  for  only  by  true  faith  can  our  intellectual 
faculties  obtain  their  most  delicate  and  lofty  develop- 
ment; only  through  it  can  we  fully  appreciate  and 
enjoy  the  beauties  of  nature. 

But  now  he  was  in  a  gentler  and  holier  mood,  as 
he  sat  listening,  on  the  evening  of  December  7, 
to  the  Benediction  hymn.  lie  had  just  returned 
from  a  short  visit  to  Albaiio,  and  was  filled  with 
remembrances  of  Cardinal  Altieri.  lie  had  stood 
with  uncovered  head  by  his  tomb,  and  had  rever- 
ently walked  over  the  streets  sanctified  by  his  foot- 
steps. He  had  entered  the  Cathedral,  and  almost 
fancied  that  he  caught  sight  of  Altieri's  figure  on 
the  spot  on  which  he  had  stood  when  exhorting  his 
flock  to  repentance  and  courage.  Remembering  the 
Cardinal's  dying  words  to  himself  to  pray  for  "  light 


360 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


and  grace,"  he  had  thrown  himself  on  his  knees 
and  poured  out  the  longings  of  his  heart  in  fervent 
prayer.  And  now,  as  he  heard  the  dying  echoes  of 
his  loved  hymn,  the  smiling  face  of  Altieri  seemed 
to  float  near  on  the  waves  of  music,  and  then  to 
calmly  ascend  through  the  gathering  gloom.  More 
pensive  than  usual,  he  closed  his  window,  and  shortly 
afterwards  retired  for  the  night. 

Next  morning  all  Rome  was  astir.  The  great 
day  had  arrived ;  our  generation  was  about  to  wit- 
ness an  event  of  rare  occurrence  in  the  history  of 
the  Church,  viz.,  the  opening  of  an  Ecumenical 
Council.  The  Church  is  a  divine  institution ;  its 
sacraments  and  doctrines  are  stamped  with  the  seal  of 
Heaven,  and  it  is  ever  guided  by  the  Holy  Spirit. 
But  its  members  are  only  human :  they  are  by 
adoption,  it  is  true,  children  of  God ;  still  they  are 
obnoxious  to  the  frailties  of  a  fallen  nature.  The 
great  granary  of  the  Lord  contains  chaff  mixed 
with  the  wheat ;  vessels  of  wood  and  clay  are  seen 
side  by  side  with  those  of  gold  and  precious  gems. 
Hence  individual  sins  and  abuses — the  scandal,  per- 
haps, of  a  whole  nation  becoming  apostate — may  be 
verified  in  the  Church,  but  they  are  not  sins  and 
abuses  of  the  Church.  The  Spouse  of  Christ  has 
no  spot  nor  wrinkle  on  her  virgin  brow ;  she  is  not 
defiled  by  the  vice  of  her  unworthy  children,  because 
it  is  against  her  teaching  and  her  protests  that 
crimes  are  committed.  At  times  she  is  roused  to 
employ  the  dreadful  punishment  of  excommunica- 
tion— to  cut  off,  that  is,  the  rotten  branches  lest 
they  infect  the  sound.     She  has  within  herself  all 


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351 


the  elements  of  renewal,  all  the  power  lecessary  to 
effect  a  reformation  in  her  members.  In  herself 
there  can  be  no  reformation,  because  she  is  the 
infallible  representative  of  Christ.  God  did  not 
leave  her  unfinished ;  he  left  nothing  in  her  to  be 
perfected  by  man.  She  received  the  deposit  of 
Faith  ;  she  is  its  guardian  and  expounder.  Through 
her  is  taught  the  Word  of  Christ:  throucrh  her 
flows  sacramental  grace.  Unchanging  is  her  Faith ; 
because  it  is  God's  message  to  man,  proclaimed  once 
through  Christ,  now  through  his  Spouse.  More 
precisely  and  more  fully,  in  accordance  with  the 
necessities  and  development  of  human  thought,  she 
defines  and  expounds  her  doctrines ;  but  she  never 
changes  them.  Her  outward  laws  of  discipline, 
made  by  herself  for  the  good  of  her  members,  are 


modified    or 


abrogated 


as   circumstances   chantre : 


but  never  once  in  her  long  history  did  she  change 
a  dogma;  never  once  did  she  contradict  herself; 
never  once  did  she  trim  her  sails  or  lower  her  flag 
at  the  bidding  of  any  tyrant.  This  ought  to  be 
enough  to  convince  any  man  of  sense  that  she  must 
be  divine  in  her  origin,  in  her  mission,  and  in  her 
authority. 

Tiie  object  of  a  General  Council  has  always  been 
one  of  vast  moment — either  to  settle  soi.ie  point  of 
doctrine  and  to  formulate  it  in  precise  terms,  or 
to  correct  flagrant  abuses  in  the  members  of  the 
Church,  or  to  enact  salutary  laws  of  discipline,  and 
to  promote  the  advancement  of  science.  Yes ; 
though  George  Marchbank  had  often  read  the 
sneers  of  the  ignorant,  declaiming  against  the  fancied 


1 


352 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


)i-  ■ 


wis! 


ignorance  of  the  Church,  he  now  knew  that  many 
of  the  greatest  universities  of  Europe  owed  their 
origin  to  the  Councils  of  the  Churcli.  He  likewise 
knew  that  in  every  branch  of  polite  or  learned  liter- 
ature, in  every  refining  art  and  ennobling  science, 
Catholics  had  excelled ;  and  even  now,  despite  the 
bombastic  nonsense  of  Tyndall,  Huxley,  and  their 
hebetated  copyists,  do  excel.  Many  a  popular  delu- 
sion rests,  like  this  strange  hallucination  of  bigots 
about  the  ignorance  of  Eome,  on  the  crass  stupidity 
of  its  victims. 

The  lovers  of  parliamentary  institutions  would 
do  well  to  study  the  history  of  Ecumenical  Councils. 
So  thought  George  Marchbank,  as  he  took  his 
crowded  way  to  St.  Peter's.  Here  was  the  head  of 
the  Church  summoning  men  from  every  clime  to 
meet  and  consult  on  the  affairs  of  Christendom. 
The  same  had  taken  place  at  various  epochs  of  the 
Christian  era — from  the  Council  of  the  Apostles  in 
Jerusalem  to  that  of  the  Vatican  in  1869. 

The  hall  of  the  Council  was  formed  by  running  a 
temporary  partition  between  two  of  the  immense 
pilasters  which  help  to  support  the  dome,  thus  cut- 
ting off  one  arm  of  tlie  cross,  in  the  form  of  which 
St.  Peter's  is  built.  It  opened  into  the  body  of  the 
church  by  folding-doors ;  these  were  opposite  the 
High  Altar,  and  were  open  during  public  sessions. 
From  an  early  hour  the  vast  Basilica  was  filled  with 
anxious  thousands.  Around  the  High  Altar,  be- 
neath the  wondrous  dome,  the  press  was  so  great  that 
it  was  impossible — actually,  literally  impossible — 
to  raise  an  arm  from  one's  side  often  for  an  hour 


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363 


at  a  stretch.  Packed  among  this  ahnost  immovable 
mass  George  Marchbank  stood  for  six  long  hours. 
A  double  line  of  soldiers  from  the  door  of  the 
church  to  the  Council-chamber  kept,  by  great  exer- 
tion, an  open  passage  for  the  prelates.  Towards 
this  lane  expectant  eyes  were  continually  turned. 

At  length  the  eager  whisper,  "  They  are  coming," 
floats  through  the  crowd.  Headed  by  a  guard  of 
honor,  the  grand  procession  moves  up  the  noble 
temple.  Every  murmur  is  hushed  ;  every  eye  is 
strained ;  every  heart  thrills  with  an  unaccustomed 
emotion.  What  a  gorgeous  and  what  an  unique 
sight!  More  than  seven  hundred  bishops,  repre- 
sentatives of  every  part  of  the  known  world,  clad 
in  copes  of  glittering  cloth-of-gold,  and  mitres  glis- 
tening with  diamonds,  walked  slowly  up  the  guarded 
lane.  The  cardinals  in  their  scarlet  robes  followed, 
and  borne  aloft  on  the  Sedia  Gestatoria  the  vener- 
able Pontiff  himself.  The  minor  features  of  mili- 
tary display  and  the  grand  music  of  "  Tu  es  Petrus" 
were  lost  sight  of  in  the  awful  sense  of  wondering 
admiration.  Here  were  men  from  the  East  and 
West — men  famed  in  the  world  of  science  or  lite- 
rature— old  men  tottering  feebly  along,  and  strong 
men  in  the  prime  of  life — strangers  to  one  another, 
yet  all  linked  in  a  holy  bond  of  faith.  Slowly  up 
the  magnificent  pageant  moved,  and  as  it  entered 
the  Council-chamber  each  bishop  took  his  appointed 
place.  The  Pope's  throne  was  in  the  extreme  end ; 
on  each  side  were  raised  forms  for  the  cardinals ; 
rows  of  seats,  tier  above  tier,  stretched  out  from 
those  for  the  bishops.     When  the  Pope  had  reached 


354 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


i. 


hia  throne  and,  having  been  seated,  resumed  the 
tiara,  all  the  bishops  put  on  their  mitres  and  sat 
down.  From  the  arrangement  of  the  interior  of 
the  Council-hall  one  standing  under  the  dome  could 
take  in  the  whole  scene  at  a  glance.  George  March- 
bank  was  in  such  a  position. 

The  sight  profoundly  affected  him.  His  well- 
stored  mind  went  back  up  the  pathway  of  centu- 
ries, and  sought  for  parallels  to  this  scene.  Were 
there  any  ?  Yes  :  in  imagination  he  was  transported 
to  Trent,  and  saw  three  centuries  ago  a  similar 
sight.  He  saw  the  same  at  Constance,  at  Florence, 
at  Lyons,  at  the  Lateran,  at  Constantinople,  at 
Ephesus,  at  Nice,  and  finally  at  Jerusalem.  Yes ; 
there  could  be  no  mistaking  the  parallels :  acciden- 
tal differences  there  were,  but  the  essential  feat- 
ures were  ever  the  same ;  bishops  from  all  parts, 
and  the  Pope  presiding,  either  in  person  or  through 
his  delegates.  Against  each  of  these  the  impious 
had  raved,  just  as  they  were  now  raving  against  the 
Vatican  Council ;  false  doctrines  were  condemned, 
and  the  truth  taught  with  an  authority  which  in- 
dicated its  source  in  the  Council  of  the  Apostles : 
"  it  has  appeared  good  to  us  and  the  Holy  Ghost." 
Yes  ;  there  could  be  no  mistaking  the  parallels,  no 
shirking  their  awful  significance.  If  the  Council 
of  Nice  represented  Christianity,  the  Council  of  the 
Vatican  must  do  the  same.  Unless  the  Christian 
religion  be  a  fable  and  Christ  a  myth,  the  Coun- 
cil here  assembled  must  be  the  exponent  of  Truth ; 
it  must  be  the  authoritative  teacher  of  Christ's 
doctrine,    It  is  the  genuine  heir  and  actual  inheritor 


THE   VATICAN   COUNCIL. 


366 


of  all  the  rights  and  privileges  of  former  synods. 
The  sainted  Fathers  who  sat  in  the  Council  of  Nice 
would  find  themselves  at  home  in  that  of  the 
Vatican.  In  it  tliey  would  hear  no  strange  tongue, 
in  it  they  would  listen  to  no  new  doctrine.  Just  as 
they  had  been  convened  by  the  authority  of  the 
Pope  of  Rome,  so  had  the  Fathers  of  the  Vatican. 
Against  all  who  would  rebel  against  the  teachings 
of  the  Vatican  they  would  as  surely  thunder  an 
anathema  as  they  had  against  the  wretched  Arius. 
Here,  then,  is  tlie  living  teaching  body  of  the 
Church.     There  can  be  none  other. 

This  was  Georije  Marchbank's  conclusion,  loijical- 
ly  drawn  from  well-established  premises.  All  his 
former  doubts  vanished  in  an  instant;  his  former  in- 
difference to  revealed  trutlis  appeared  an  unaccount- 
able insanity.  There  was  a  God  ;  He  had  revealed 
His  will  and  commanded  us  to  obey  it ;  Ho  had 
founded  a  Church,  promising  to  be  with  her;  and 
here,  after  eighteen  centuries  of  persecutions  and 
triumphs,  she  now  stood  fortli,  prochiimingto  an  un- 
believing age  her  heavenly  mission  as  boldly  as  in 
the  beginning.  Evidently  it  was  his  duty  to  join 
her  communion. 

The  ways  of  God's  dealings  witli  man  are 
mysterious.  The  workings  of  His  grace  unfathom- 
able. A  thoughtless  soul  is  at  times  stricken,  like 
Saul,  to  the  earth,  and  rises  to  light  and  peace. 
Often,  on  the  other  hand,  a  serious  heart  with  vague 
yearnings  for  something  more  real  tlian  the  cold 
forms  of  heresy  is  tossed  about  for  years  on  a  sea 
of  anxious  doubt  and  harrowing  uncertainty.      It 


856 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


fain  would  believe  right,  but  it  knows  not  wliat  to 
accept ;  it  longs  to  do  God's  will,  but  no  kindly 
light  affords  it  an  illuminated  pathw  ay.  Some  who 
are  thus  being  purified  in  the  trying  crucible  of 
tribulation  lose  courage,  give  np  the  search  for 
truth,  and  melt  away  in  the  drossy  sea  of  infidelity ; 
others  remain  steadfast  in  their  pnrpose,  and  conic 
forth  from  the  bitter  test  radiant  with  the  beauty 
of  God's  own  grace. 

So  soon  as  George  Marchbank  conld  escape 
from  the  thickest  of  the  crowd  he  n>oved  back  to 
the  farther  side  of  the  High  Altar,  and  prostra- 
ting himself  by  tlie  shrine  of  St.  Peter,  liunibly 
and  witli  deep  feelings  of  reverence  repeated  the 
Apostles'  Creed.  The  words  "  1  believe  in  the 
Holy  Catholic  Church"  had  now  a  meaning:  they 
were  no  voiceless  echoes  of  the  past;  they  were 
fraught  with  a  living  reality,  and  bound  him  to  the 
past,  the  present,  and  the  future.  God's  grace  was 
upon  him,  llis  light  was  shining  into  his  soul.  lie 
could  now  understand  whv  Eleanor  had  refused  his 
proffered  love.  He  had  crossed  over  from  the  dark 
side  of  the  river;  and  stood  in  a  flood  of  mellowed 
brightness.  He  felt  the  reality  of  the  truths  of 
revelation,  and  shuddered  as  he  thought  of  his 
former  indifference.  His  soul  had  found  peace,  be- 
cause it  had  found  the  truth. 


'Wwji 


J:LEANOR*a   STRUGGLE. 


367 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

E  r.  E  A  N  O  R  '  8    8  T  E  U  O  O  I.  E  . 

"  Well,  Eleanor,  George  M.irchbank  has  become, 
as  -I  predicted  he  miglit,  a  Catholic.  He  called 
here  wliile  you  and  Morgan  were  out.  I  invited 
him  to  return  tliis  evening.  He  is  anxious  to  see 
you,  and  you,  doubtless,  will  be  glad  to  speak  with 
him." 

"  Oh  yes,  Mrs.  Barton,  I  shall  be  very  happy  to 
meet  liim  ;  I  have  only,  as  you  know,  seen  him 
once  since  we  liave  arrived.  He  looked,  I  thought, 
paler  and  more  thoughtful  than  when  lie  left  Canada. 
Morgan  says  he  is  likely  to  become  a  great  artist ; 
I  wish  he  may." 

"  So  do  I,"  replied  Mrs.  Barton.  "  But  fame  has 
not  come  as  yet,  and  it  may  be  years  before  it  will : 
in  the  mean  time  he  must  toil  and  be  patient.  How- 
ever, he  has  already  acquired  something  more  valua- 
ble than  the  praise  of  his  fellows  by  coming  to 
Rome :  he  has  been  brought  to  the  true  fold. 
Henceforth  his  chances  of  success  as  a  painter  are 
better;  the  faith  of  Christ  has  opened  up  a  wider 
and  more  sublime  view  to  his  intellect,  and  given 
him  loftiei'  ideals." 

"  So  you  think,  then,"  said  Eleanor,  "  that  one 
who  belongs  to  the  true  Church  can  be  a  greater 
artist  than  one  outside  of  it?" 


;)^8 


AFTER  TVEARY   TEAKS. 


"  Undoubtedly  !  Why,  my  dear  girl,  have  not  the 
most  renowned  painters,  sculptoio,  poets,  architects, 
the  soundest  pliilosophers,  the  deepest  thinkers,  to 
say  nothing  of  theologians,  belonged  to  our  Cliurch  ? 
In  music,  too,  as  in  every  ennol)ling  or  refining  art, 
we  take  the  lead.  If  we  were  to  blot  out  the  names 
of  Catholics  from  the  annals  of  art,  the  modern 
world  would  have  but  a  short  and  unimposing  list 
of  great  names. '" 

"  You  ai'd  quite  right,  Mrs.  Barton  ;  but  is  it  not 
stranp-c  that  we  are  taunted  with  isnorance  and  with 
n  oramping  of  the  intellect  in  the  face  of  such  proof 
to  the  contrary  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  do  not  know  whether  it  is  stranger  than 
other  charges  equally  ridiculous.  The  fact  is,  those 
who  are  outside  of  our  pale  may  be  divided  into 
two  classes — the  well-meaning  but  simple,  and  the 
malicious.  The  former  have  been  educated  in  the 
belief  that  we  are  idolaters,  or  nearly  so ;  they  have 
been  surrounded  by  an  atmosphere  of  prejudice  so 
dense  that  it  is  difficult  for  them  to  pierce  it.  They 
read  the  stale  lies  so  often  refuted,  but  which,  like 
filthy  worms,  increase  by  putrefaction.  Can  you 
wonder  that  persons  wdiose  daily  intellectual  food 
consists  in  America  of  Harper's  publications  and 
similar  prints ;  and  in  England  of  the  Times  and 
Froude's  romancins^  in  the  pathwavs  of  historv, 
should  be  ignorant?  They,  poor  souls,  swear  by 
their  favorite  newspaper  or  writer,  and  are  actually 
thunderstruck  if  you  deny  his  assertions.  The  ma- 
licious know  that  they  malign  us;  they  know  in 
their  inmost  soul  that  ours  is  the  only  true  Church 


Eleanor's  struggle. 


359 


of  God  ;  that  we  only  are  truly  free,  being  made  so 
by  the  Truth ;  but  because  our  religion  imposes  re- 
straints on  tlie  indulgence  of  their  sinful  passions, 
they  bow  not  to  it,  although,  like  the  devils,  they 
believe  and  tremble.' " 

"  It  is  dreadful,"  sighed  Eleanor,  "  that  persons 
should  be  so  blinded.  The  follies  of  life,  position 
in  society,  dress,  and  sucli  like  vanities,  will  look 
mi3an  and  contemptible  when  viewed  by  the  light  of 
a  deathbed." 

"  Too  true  ;  but  even  man  v  who  have  been  brouo-ht 
up  in  the  household  of  the  Faith  forget  God  to  think 
of  these.  See  how  many  young  Catholic  girls  and 
boys  hang  entranced  over  a  filthy  love-tale  !  They 
Mush  to  be  seen  frequenting  the  Church  and  the 
sacraments ;  but  they  experience  no  sense  of  shame 
in  reading  vile  books,  or  in  flaunting  in  a  ball-room, 
where  youthful  charms  are  as  really  prostituted  as 
in  any  den  of  iniquity,  and  where  even  aged  women 
expose  shamelessly  their  scraggy  necks  and  freckled 
shoulders,  to  the  unspeakable  disgust  of  all  right- 
thinking  men,  though  '  society '  keeps  them  silent." 

As  Mrs.  Barton  spoke  a  shade  of  crimson  flashed 
athwart  the  pallor  of  lier  cheeks  as  she  indignantly 
thought  of  the  scandal  given  by  many  who  refuse 
to  listen  to  the  teachings  of  religion,  pleading  as 
their  excuse  the  "  usage  of  society."  It  is  true  that 
custom  may  excuse  certain  modes  of  dress  not  openly 
inmiodest ;  but  no  custom  can  excuse  certain  l)all- 
room  toilets;  and  no  young  girl  ever  appeared  for 
the  first  time  in  one  of  these  diabolically  suggested 
dresses  without  experiencing  a  thrill  of  shame,  and 


IL 


360 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


showing  a  conscious  flush  of  outraged  modesty.  As 
for  certain  modern  dances,  we  can  only  wonder  that 
any  girl  who  lias  a  sense  of  maidenly  honor  should 
join  in  them  ;  or  how  any  man  could  take  as  his  wife 
one  whom  he  had  seen  dancing  them. 

The  conversation  between  Mrs.  Barton  and 
Eleanor  took  place  in  tlieir  apartments  near  'he 
Piazza  di  Sjxujna,  a  few  days  after  the  0}>eniiig  of 
the  Council.  Whilst  they  were  still  pursuing  the 
subject  of  their  just  indignation,  George  Marchbaiik 
was  announced.  He  looked  somewhat  pale,  and 
was  slightly  agitated  when  addressing  Eleanor.  He 
soon  grew  cheerful,  and  gave  a  full  account  of  ^i"; 
adventures  since  he  had  left  the  banks  of  the  St. 
Lawrence.  When,  in  response  to  an  inquiry  from 
Mrs.  Barton,  he  spoke  of  his  reception  into  the  true 
Church,  he  glanced  at  Eleanor,  and  said  : 

"  I  can  now  understand  many  things  which  were 
heretofore  unintelligible.  I  feel  the  reality  of  re- 
ligion, not  my  former  indefinite  impression  ;  I  feel 
that  there  are  nobler  aspirations  than  the  grasping 
at  the  transitory  goods  of  life.  My  art  is  invested 
with  a  new  interest  for  me,  because  I  can  now  make 
it  speak  of  God  to  others ;  and  I  experience  a  higher 
inspiration  when  I  seize  the  brush.  My  intellect 
seems  to  have  expanded  wonderfully  wit^^.in  a  few 
days ;  and  I  enjoy  that  peace  of  mind  so  character- 
istic of  Catholics  who  practise  their  religion.  And, 
he  added  softly,  I  can  understand  why  a  sincere 
Catholic  should  not  wish  to  marry  one  who  had  no 
sympathy  of  Faith." 

ElcLUor  felt  uneasy,  and  to  divert  the  current  of 


Eleanor's  struggle. 


361 


liis  thoughts  spoke  about  the  Garibaldian  raid  in 
1867,  and  the  battle  of  Mentana.  Her  cliecks 
glowed  and  her  eyes  shone  with  ]>leasure  as  George 
related  the  braverv  of  Morc^an :  and  wlien  he  inci- 
dentally  referred  to  Lorenzo's  share  in  tlie  tight,  and 
liis  wound,  a  fihn,  the  harbinger  of  a  sympathetic 
tear,  dimmed  for  an  instant  her  soft  eyes,  and  a 
deeper  tinge  of  carnation  suffused  lier  cheeks. 

Just  then  Morc-an  and  Lorenzo  entered.  The 
latter  was  greeted  warndy  by  Mrs.  Barton,  resjiect- 
fully  by  George  Marchbank,  and  half  timidly,  half 
enthusiastically,  hy  Eleanor.  Somehow  the  conver- 
sation soon  grew  monosylhibic  and  formah  Morgan 
started  an  idea,  but  no  one  seemed  inclined  to  fol- 
low it.  Mrs.  Barton  broaclied  a  subject,  but  not 
even  Lorenzo  attacked  it  witli  zest.  Georij^e  March- 
bank  became  thoughtful ;  he  mentally  inquired, 
"What  is  the  matter  with  us  all  ?"  Lorenzo  looked 
puzzled ;  he  was  trying  to  discover  what  it  was 
that  kept  his  tongue  almost  tied.  lie  thought 
witliin  himself,  '*  Why  does  that  Marehbaidv  always 
act  as  a  lump  of  ice  on  my  spirits  ?"  and  George 
inwardly  sighed,  "  How  I  should  like  to  know  why 
young  Aldini  prevents  me  from  speaking  naturally." 

At  this  juncture,  Morgan,  in  the  second  stage  of 
despair  at  his  ilbsuccess  in  making  the  evening 
pleasant,  asked  his  sister  if  she,  like  Miss  Drew, 
would  lind  a  husband  in  Kome.  George  and 
Lorenzo  glanced  at  her,  and  then  at  each  other.  In 
that  one  look  each  found  the  answer  to  his  mental 
inquiry ;  each  discovered  the  secret  of  their  mutual 
want  of  sympathy,  and  each  knew  that  the  otlier 
16 


362 


AFTER   WEARY   TEARS. 


!? 


^ 


had,  like  himself,  been  enlightened.  They  were 
rivals.  Yes;  they  saw  it  clearly  now,  and  though 
both  were  frank  and  honorable,  they  fain  would 
have  hidden  the  fact  from  themselves  and  from 
each  other.  Yes,  they  were  rivals;  but  each  felt 
that  the  other  would  not  stoop  to  any  dishonorable 
arts  in  order  to  supplant  him :  it  would  be  a  fair 
contest  for  the  coveted  prize;  they  arrived  at  an 
understanding  in  that  short  glance. 

Mrs.  Barton  had  noticed  the  interchange  of  looks 
between  the  two  young  men,  and  half  divined  their 
thoughts.  She  thought  witli  a  quiet  sigh  of  the 
little  chance  her  lost  Denis  would  have  of  win- 
ning Eleanor  were  he  now  to  be  found ;  for,  with 
a  sympathetic  woman's  keen  instinct,  she  knew 
that  her  friend  loved  Lorenzo  Aldini.  Nor  did  she 
wonder  at  this.  He  was  in  every  way  calculated  to 
arouse,  in  such  a  girl  as  Eleanor,  that  feeling  of 
love  which  is  in  some  secret  chamber  of  the  heart 
of  every  one,  except  those  called  by  God  to  the 
higher  and  holier  state  of  celibacy.  Generous, 
brave,  highly  cultured,  and  affable,  he  had  become 
very  dear  to  Mrs.  Barton,  who  frequently  wished 
that  Denis  were  like  him.  She  well  knew  that 
Eleanor  was  one  of  those  rare  treasures  such  as  few 
men  find,  and  fewer  perhaps  can  appreciate.  For 
laugh  as  the  unthinking  and  ungenerous  may  at 
woman's  foibles,  the  number  of  men  who  can  really 
understand  and  estimate  at  their  proper  value  true 
women  is  smaller  far  than  is  that  of  such  women. 

The  mind  of  the  average  man  is  blunt  and  unre- 
fined ;  he  cannot  sympathize  with  the  finer  emo- 


ELEANOR'S   STRUGGLE. 


363 


tions  of  hnman  nature ;  he  cannot  grasp  the  pri- 
mary truth,  that  the  very  charm  of  tlie  feminine 
character  is  in  its  difference  from  liis  own,  in  its 
generous  impvilsos  and  its  amiable  weakness. 
Hence  he  is  annoyed  at  woman's  apparent  way- 
wardness, instead  of  being  pleased  at  lier  gentler 
thoughts;  he  frets  at  her  a})parent  want  of  judg- 
ment, instead  of  admiring  her  correct  instincts ;  he 
is  aggrieved  at  her  less  stalwart  nature,  instead 
of  being  delighted  with  her  clinging  tenderness. 
Thus,  want  of  appreciation  on  the  part  of  man — 
a  lack  on  his  part  of  the  proper  mode  of  action,  and 
not  the  wrong  qualities  of  the  woman,  is  too  often 
the  cause  of  unhappiness  in  married  life.  If  young 
men  think  the  affection  of  a  girl  worth  winning,  it 
is  surely  worth  retaining;  it  can  be  retained  by  the 
same  means  as  it  was  won,  namely,  by  a  little  atten- 
tion, and  a  due  consideration  for  its  value :  in  this 
way  married  life  might  be,  if  not  an  unbroken 
honeymoon,  at  least  a  season  of  quiet  happiness. 
It  is  as  untrue  as  it  is  unmanly,  to  lay  all  connubial 
misery  at  the  door  of  womanly  foibles. 

Now  Mrs.  Barton  felt  that  Lorenzo  could  appreci- 
ate a  true  woman ;  for,  although  brave  and  manly, 
he  had  many  feminine  qualities.  It  is  only  by  a 
judicious  mingling  of  all  that  is  noblest  it\  man  and 
most  refininii:  in  woman  that  a  true  man  is  con- 
stituted.  But  the  ideal  woman  should  have  no  ad- 
mixture of  virile  qualities.  Men  may  admire  the 
masculine  woman,  but  they  can  only  love  the 
shrinking,  delicate  one  who  requires  their  protect- 
ing care. 


%  .n 


364 


AFTER  WEARY    YEARS. 


»"? 


i. 
I  1 1"» 


■    I 


Eleanor  returned  a  playful  answer  to  Morgan's 
question,  and  asked  George  if  he  had  yet  captivated 
a  Roman  signora.  But  even  this  airy  subject  fell  flat. 
After  an  uncomfortable  half  hour  Georo-e  March- 
bank  departed.  He  resolved  to  return  on  the  mor- 
row and  learn  his  fate  from  Eleanor. 

When  Morgan  and  Lorenzo  arose  to  betake  them- 
selves to  their  lodgings,  Eleanor  accompanied  them 
to  the  foot  of  the  stairs.  They  led  to  a  spacious 
courtyard  around  which  ran  a  richly  ornamented 
entablature,  supported  on  porphry  colunms.  Huge 
earthen  pots  containing  orange  and  lemon  trees, 
the  former  bearing  fruit  now  nearly  ripe,  formed 
quite  a  grove  without  the  veranda.  The  night 
was  clear  and  slightly  cold.  The  nearly  rounded 
moon  swam  peacefully  overhead.  Its  softened 
beams  trembled  on  the  orange  leaves  and  danced 
like  sportive  elves  on  the  paved  courtyard.  A 
lofty  fountain  in  the  centre  of  the  square  sent  up 
a  hissing  jet  which  glinted  in  the  rays  of  light  like 
trees  in  our  northern  clime  when  covered  witli 
icicles,  as  it  broke  into  myriad  drops.  With  a  soft 
plash  it  fell  into  a  marble  vase  which  rested  on  alle- 
gorical figures,  and  murmuring  rolled  in  a  gentle 
wave  over  the  sides  of  this  vase  into  a  large  basin 
below. 

The  spirit  of  beauty  is  always  abroad  in  Italy. 
Involuntarily  all  three  gave  an  exclamation  of  de 
light.  Mrs.  Barton  came  to  the  head  of  the  stairs 
and  called  Morgan,  saying  she  wished  to  speak  with 
him  for  a  few  minutes.  Eleanor  and  Lorenzo  were 
thus  left  standing  alone.     The  latter  mindful  of 


Eleanor's  struggle. 


365 


what  he  had  discovered  George  Marchbank  to  be, 
resolved  in  liis  usual  impulsive  way  to  speak  of  his 
love  to  Eleanor.  lie  did  so  in  earnest  and  respect- 
ful terms,  lialf  trembling  with  emotion,  and  with  a 
liuskiness  of  voice  which  told  of  deep  and  tender 
feelings  kept  down  by  a  strong  will.  Although 
almost  unknown  to  her,  Morgan,  he  said,  knew  all 
about  his  character  and  prospects ;  that  ever  since 
he  first  saw  her  in  the  railway  carriage  his  heart  had 
gone  out  to  her;  that  she  was  the  original  of  a 
})hotograph  which  liad  some  mystery  connected 
with  it,  and  which  he  had  received  from  his  father. 

Poor  Eleanor  stood  with  beating  heart  and  down- 
cast eyes,  nervously  plucking  at  the  stiff,  cold  orange 
leaves.  When  he  had  first  begun  to  speak  a  great 
wave  of  joy  swelled  proudly  within  her  soul,  suffus- 
ing her  cheeks  with  a  flush  of  pleasure,  and  causing 
tears  of  happiness  to  well  up  in  her  sparkling  eyes. 
For  Mrs.  Barton  had  guessed  aright.  Eleanor  dearly 
loved  Lorenzo,  and  his  words  of  tenderness  found  a 
sympathetic  response  in  her  own  pure  heart.  The 
strong,  chaste  love  of  a  virtuous  girl  glowed  in  her 
soul  and  ennobled  her.  Yes,  a  pure,  generous 
human  love  ennobles  both  its  subject  and  its  object ; 
not  of  course  in  so  high  a  degree  as  Divine  love,  but 
nevertheless  really  and  truly.  For  the  love  of  such 
as  Eleanor  and  Lorenzo  is  not  the  murky  fiame  of 
the  thoughtless;  it  is  founded  in  reason  and  religion 
and  is  a  reflection  from  heaven. 

But  the  bright  vision  lasted  only  an  instant. 
Eleanor  remembered  her  promise  to  Mrs.  Barton ; 
the  three  years  had  not  yet  elapsed.     She  was  not 


366 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


'  I ' 


ii^    ' 


free  to  accept  his  love.  When  onr  eni'otions  are 
awakened  we  crowd  into  one  l)rief  moment  tlie 
events  of  years.  Tlie  mind  seems  to  liave  acquired 
a  new  power,  it  can  view  numberless  things  sinnd- 
taneously,  it  can  see  their  mutual  relations,  and 
perceive  tlieir  necessary  consequences.  Length  of 
years  on  earth  is  not  always  synonymous  with 
amount  of  life.  Many  men  live  more  in  one  day 
than  others  do  in  years,  for  the  more  we  think,  the 
more  we  exercise  our  intellectual  powers,  the  more 
we  live.  Whilst  Lorenzo  was  speaking  Eleanor 
lived  many  years.  Jler  peacefully  happy  days  of 
girlhood,  her  ])romise  to  Mrs.  Barton,  her  future 
desolation,  all,  all  were  present  to  her  imagination. 
She  knew  that  even  should  Denis  Barton  ever  return 
to  his  mother, — a  most  unlikely  event, — she  could  not 
be  his  bride,  for,  alas,  her  heart's  affections  were 
given  once  and  forever  to  Lorenzo.  Yet  she  dared 
not  accept  the  hitter's  proffered  love.  She  had  pro- 
mised to  remain  free  for  a  time,  and  the  term  had 
not  yet  expired.  A  wild  thought  surged  for  an 
instant  through  her  achinc:  heart — she  would  tell 
Lorenzo  of  her  promise ;  but  even  as  it  rushed 
tumultuously  through  her  brain  maidenly  delicacy 
checked  its  headlong  course.  No,  though  she  fore- 
saw in  full  her  own  misery,  and  in  part,  Lorenzo's, 
if  she  told  it  not,  still  silence  must  seal  her  lips. 

A  thousand  subtle  emotions  urged  her  to  accept ; 
a  thousand  selfish  feelings  strove  to  overmaster  her 
will ;  a  thousand  tempting  demons  sought  to  make 
her  false  to  her  promise,  or,  at  least,  untrue  to  that 
delicacy  which  kept  her  dumb  regarding  Denis  Bar- 


ELEANOR'S   STRUGGLE. 


367 


ton.  But  Eleanor  liad  drunk  deeply  at  tlie  fount  of 
Grace ;  she  had  long  schooled  herself  to  trample  on 
selfish  promptings,  and  to  guide  her  actions  by  the 
law  of  right.  Her  struggle  was  keen  ;  her  anguish 
cruel ;  for  they  were  in  proportion  to  the  sensitive- 
ness of  her  refined  soul.  Yet  amidst  the  darkness 
of  her  bitter  desolation  tiierc  ever  shone  a  gentle  ray 
of  light.  It  seemed  to  shoot  from  Calvary's  sacred 
hill,  and  told  of  a  loving  and  suffering  Saviour.  It 
gave  her  strength  and  victory. 

Lorenzo  had  paused  from  the  excess  of  emotion, 
and  tremblingly  stoood  awaiting  an  answer.  The 
chill  night  breeze  rustled  among  the  cold  orange 
leaves.  The  icy  waters  of  the  fountain  fell  with  a 
sad  murmur.  The  pale  moonbeams  had  a  ghastly 
glow  as  they  shone  aslant  the  cold  marble  pillars. 
It  was  a  beautiful  yet  a  mocking  night  for  such  a 
scene.  Only  these  two  young  hearts,  with  the  fervor 
of  their  great  love,  relieved  the  universal  coldness ; 
and  these,  alas,  would  soon  be  frozen  by  their  grief. 

They  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  too  happy  or 
too  miserable  for  speech.  Morgan's  voice  was  heard 
above  and  they  knew  he  would  soon  be  with  them. 
Lorenzo  said : 

"  What  is  my  answer,  Eleanor  ?" 

With  a  face  more  blanched  than  the  cold  moon- 
beams, and  eyes  that  spoke  a  great  sorrow,  she  re- 
plied : 

"  I  cannot  tell  my  thanks ;  but  it  may  not  be." 

"Dio  mio!  Dio  mio,"  were  the  only  words  that 
escaped  Lorenzo's  lips ;  but  they  were  so  laden  with 
a  passionate,  almost  despairing  grief  that  poorElean- 


368 


AFTER   WEARY    YEARS. 


or  sliivcred  with  fear.  Then  as  Morgan  was  heard 
bidding  Mrs.  l>arton  good-night,  the  gentle  girl  laid 
her  hand  on  J^orenzo's  arm  and  said : 

"Pardon  nie  for  this  pain — and  pity  nie  too — for 
— for  my  heart  is  riven — but  I  cannot  now  accept 
your  love." 

These  words  were  wrung  from  her  compassionate 
soul  and  recalled  Lorenzo  to  himself.  But  even  then 
she  had  gone  and  Morgan  was  close  to  his  side. 

Silently  they  passed  under  the  broad  archway 
which  led  from  the  courtyard  into  the  street.  From 
the  agitated  manner  of  his  sister  who  merely  had 
given  liim  her  hand  on  the  dark  stairway,  and /the 
silence  of  Lorenzo,  Morgan  guessed  what  had  taken 
])lace.  Yet  it  was  a  puzzle  to  him  why  Eleanor 
should  have  refused  the  hand  of  his  friend.  lie  had 
half  hoped  that  they  would  have  been  married. 
However,  he  said  nothing,  not  well  knowing — for 
who  does  know  in  such  a  case  ? — what  were  best  to 
say. 

Mrs.  Barton  noticed  Eleanor's  woe-begone  coun- 
tenance when  she  returned  to  the  room,  and  half 
divined  its  cause.  Bitterly  did  she  now  reproach 
lierself  for  having  asked  Eleanor  not  to  plight  her 
troth  for  that  term  of  years.  She  was  about  to  speak 
to  the  suffering  girl  and  release  her  from  her  promise, 
but  Eleanor  who  seemed  to  know  her  mind  rose  to 
retiic  for  the  night,  saying, 

"  Let  us  never  speak  about  this  night  any  more." 


PASSING  AWAY. 


369 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


PASSING    AWAY. 


The  banks  of  the  noble  St.  Lawrence  are  piled 
with  driven  snow.  The  bare  branches  of  nia[)le, 
beech,  and  ebu  crackle  with  tlie  keen  frost  as  tliey 
inonrnfully  sway  in  the  January  breeze.  Pines 
and  firs,  in  their  robes  of  dark  green  powdered  witli 
lioar  frost,  or  gracefully  fringed  witli  icicles,  give 
beauty  and  color  to  the  snowy  carpet  whicli  winter 
spreads  over  these  regions.  The  mighty  river  is 
caught  in  the  chill  grasp  of  winter,  and  no  longer 
bears  on  its  proud  bosom  the  wealth  of  our  great 
Dominion.  A  sparkling  sheet  of  crystal  is  thrown 
over  its  laughing  waters,  making  it  resemble  a  huge 
giant  wrapjied  in  his  funeral  robes.  And  even  as 
the  mortal  body  is  clasped  by  the  icy  hand  of  death, 
and  lies  like  the  great  river  in  sepulchral  garments 
for  a  brief  season,  but  shall  be  one  day  released 
from  its  cold  bonds,  in  like  manner  shall  the  torpid 
St.  Lawrence,  warmed  by  the  rays  of  spring,  burst 
asunder  its  crystal  winding-sheet  and  laugh  and 
glint  in  the  beams  of  the  sun. 

Death  and  resurrection  are  stamped  on  all  visible 

creation.     We  see  them  in  the  plants,  the  trees,  the 

grass,  the  flowers ;  we  note  them  in  the  seasons,  the 

phases  of  the  moon,  and  the  varying  states  of  the 

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370 


AFTER  WEARY  TEARS. 


atmosphere;  they  all  die  but  to  be  reborn.  It  is 
but  a  shallow  philosophy  which  seeks  to  exempt 
man  from  the  general  law  of  resurrection.  The 
dust  of  liis  body  may  be  borne  hither  and  thither 
just  as  the  elements  of  a  wilted  rose  will  be  scat- 
tered by  autumn's  blast;  but  what  of  that?  Not 
one  atom  of  it  perishes ;  not  one  of  its  particles  is 
destroyed.  In  the  vast  storehouse  of  Nature  its 
eveiy  element  is  garnered  up,  and  will  one  day,  at 
the  beck  of  the  Almighty  God,  be  built  anew  into  a 
liuman  form. 

This  belief  robs  death  of  half  its  terrors  and 
makes  the  Christian  mother  await  confidently  the 
time  when  she  shall  again  see  her  buried  darlings 
This  belief  made  John  Leahy  less  anxious  as  he  lay 
this  cold  January  morning  on  his  bed  of  death. 

Yes,  the  hardy  old  pioneer  was  dying ;  the  strong, 
faithful  Catholic  was  passing.away,  not  rapidly  like 
the  light  of  a  November  evening,  but  serenely  and 
slowly  like  the  fading  sheen  of  a  midsummer's  sun- 
set. Death  is  usually  merciful  to  those  who  have 
used  life  aright.  It  is  a  compendium  of  life,  and, 
like  all  thorough  compendiums,  contains  the  most 
striking  features  of  the  unabridged  work.  The 
gnawing  remorse  which  the  wicked  in  vain  endeavor 
to  strangle  by  entangling  themselves  still  more  in 
the  meshes  of  crime — the  awful  fear  of  dread  pun- 
ishment which  in  life  they  strive  to  overcome  by 
feigning  scepticism ;  the  desolate  heart  yearning 
for  God's  love  and  yet  too  weak  or  too  proud  to 
submit  to  his  holy  law — all  these  are  seen  in  the 
sinner's  death.     Oh !  what  pen  can  tell  the  agonies 


■PH 


PASSING  AWAY. 


371 


of  that  hour  for  the  impious  1  In  the  flusli  of  health 
and  the  pride  of  strong  life  they  may  laugh  at  our 
words  and  term  them  the  gloomy  fancies  of  a  bigot, 
an  ascetic,  or  a  hypochondriac.  These  are  the  ex- 
pressions employed  by  brainless  scriblers  when  re- 
ferring to  the  teachings  of  religion  on  this  point. 
But  those  who  have  seen  the  strong  man  brought 
low,  and  the  robust  youth  stricken  down  by  a  fell 
disease,  and  who  have  stood  by  their  dying  couch 
and  heard  their  heart-rending  laments,  their  loud  be- 
wailings,  and,  perhaps,  their  appalling  cries  of  de- 
spair, may  be  allowed  to  know  more  of  the  terrors  of 
death  and  of  the  proper  preparation  for  it  than  the 
flippant  scoffer  who  is  usually  the  greatest  coward  in 
moments  of  danger.  To  live  a  virtuous  life  is  the 
great  secret  of  a  happy  death. 

John  Leahy  was  an  example  of  this.  His  unaf- 
fected piety,  his  firm  faith,  his  deep  love  for  God, 
were  now  blossoming  into  the  fruit  of  eternal  life. 
He  could  look  back  on  a  career  unsullied  by  any  act 
of  dishonor,  on  a  life  unblemished  by  the  gross  vices 
of  worldlings.  He  had  not  trodden,  it  is  true,  the 
high  paths  of  social  life ;  he  had  not  been  known 
beyond  the  small  circle  in  which  he  moved  ;  but 
what  of  that  ?  Of  what  avail  would  now  be  to  him 
glory,  riches,  or  honor  ?  Less  than  nothing.  They 
could  not  bring  ease  to  his  pain;  they  could  not 
stay  his  ebbing  life ;  they  could  not  bribe  the  grim 
death-king,  nor  delay  the  approaching  grasp  of  his 
icy  hand.  Only  his  good  deeds  could  now  console 
Lim ;  they  stood  around  his  bed  ;  they  plucked  the 
sting  from  death;  they  would  follow  him  beyond 


• 


372 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


the  tomb  and  speak  for  him,  trumpet-tongued,  at 
the  bar  of  the  Eternal  Judge. 

It  was  the  10th  of  January,  1870.  John  Leahy 
reclined  in  his  bed  in  such  a  manner  as  to  be  able 
to  gaze  out  on  the  bright  wintry  scene.  Innumer- 
able prisms  of  frost  were  scattered  over  the  surface 
of  the  snow.  The  rays  of  the  sun  falling  on  the 
crystal  background  were  refracted  and  reflected  by 
tlie  myriad  prisms,  and  formed  a  vision  of  kaleido- 
scopic loveliness ;  but  only  to  such  eyes  as  were 
strong  enough  to  endure  the  dazzling  light.  The 
most  delicate  and  beautiful  tracery  may  be  seen  on 
the  winter  car])et  of  our  great  Dominion.  A  dew- 
drop,  condensed  from  a  bahny  current  which  has 
sported  too  far  from  its  home,  is  slowly  congealed 
into  a  diamond  or  a  sparkling  star;  or  a  drop  of  rain 
is  gradually  frozen,  as  it  drifts  through  the  air,  into 
a  feather-shaped  flake  fringed  with  lace  of  matchless 
design.  Flowers  of  driven  snow,  as  various  and  as 
beautiful  as  those  in  a  well-kept  garden,  are  plenti- 
fully strewn  over  the  landscape. 

John  Leahy  delighted  to  look  upon  the  bean- 
ties  of  nature.  They  spoke  to  him  of  God,  and 
made  him  feel  how  glorious  heaven  must  be 
since  earth,  our  place  of  pilgrimage,  is  so  resplen- 
dent. 

Mrs.  Leahy  was  quietly  sitting  beside  her  hus- 
band's couch.  They  were  speaking  about  Morgan 
and  Eleanor.     The  old  man  asked  : 

"  How  long  will  it  be,  do  you  think,  before  they 
arrive  ?" 

"  It  cannot  be  much  longer ;  we  telegraphed  on 


i«Mi 


PASSING  AWAY. 


373 


the  15th  of  last  month ;  they  would  leave  Eome  at 
once,  and,  God  speeding,  will  soon  be  here.? 

"  I  pray  God  to  grant  me  the  happiness  of  look- 
ing once  more  on  my  dear  children.  Myjioble  boy 
must  be  greatly  changed  in  appearance,  but  his 
heart  will  be  the  same  towards  us ;  don't  you  think 
it  will  ?"  he  said,  almost  wistfully. 

"  Surely,  surely,"  answered  Mrs.  Leahy,  as  she 
wiped  away  a  tear  which  the  memory  of  her  son 
had  called  up  ;  "  Morgan  was  a  loving  son,  and  his 
heart  is  as  tender  towards  us  now  as  ever." 

"  I  thank  God,"  reverently  spoke  the  old  man, 
"that  my  boy  had  faith  and  courage  enough  to  go 
to  defend  the  rights  of  the  Pope.  I  could  not  die 
as  peacefully  as  I  do  now  if  I  had  endeavored  to 
prevent  him.  Truly,  if  we  cast  our  bread  upon 
the  waters  it  will  return  after  many  days." 

"Do  you  think,  John,"  tearfully  began  Mrs. 
Leahy,  "that  God  will  make  my  death  unhappy 
because,  in  my  selfish  sorrow,  I  wislied  to  hinder 
Morgan  from  going  ?" 

"  Not  if  you  sincerely  repent  and  atone  for  it. 
As  I  look  back  over  my  seventy  years  of  life  I  see 
many  imperfections ;  but  I  have  wept  for  them ;  I 
have  confessed  them  to  God's  priest;  I  have  en- 
deavored to  wash  them  out  in  the  sacred  blood  of 
my  Redeemer,  and  I  have  faith  enough  in  my  reli- 
gion not  to  fear  death.  I  do  not  say  this  for  a  boast. 
God  knows  I  am  sinful  enough,  but  I  trust  in  his 
mercy,  and  I  am  certain  that  what  our  Church  teaches 
about  pardon  and  penance  is  true.  It  is  my  Faith 
which  makes  me  meet  death  without  a  fear." 


374 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


"  Oh !  John,  you  were  ever  better  than  I,  stronger 
in  faith,  and  more  generous  in  your  works.  Years 
ago,  before  there  was  a  chui'ch  here,  you  used  to  go 
through  «torm  and  frost  to  Mass,  or  to  bring  the 
priest  to  hold  a  *  station.'  Often  have  I  trembled 
for  your  safety,  but  you  never  feared." 

"  Vhy  should  I  fear  ?  If  I  did  God's  will  would 
He  not  protect  me?  Or  even  if  I  had  perished 
doing  my  duty,  would  not  the  gain  be  mine  ?  One 
of  my  greatest  consolations  now  is  that  I  was  always 
anxious  to  assist  at  Mass.  Those  who  are  careless 
about  that  may  well  tremble ;  they  are  in  a  bad  way." 

"  Pray  for  me,  John,  that  I  may  soon  follow  you 
in  peace,  for  my  life  will  be  very  lonely  after  you 
are  gone.'' 

Thus  spoke' the  simple-minded  old  people.  They 
were  only  a  couple  of  hard-working  children  of 
Erin,  of  little  account  in  the  eyes  of  fashionable 
society.  And  yet  the  teachings  of  their  Church  en- 
nobled their  minds,  and  caused  them  to  have  more 
refined  ideas  of  supernatural  things  than  those  en- 
tertained by  pretended  scientists.  They  had  learned 
two  great  arts— that  of  living  well  and  that  of  dying 
well.  And  there  are  thousands  of  such  as  John 
Leahy  and  and  his  wife  around  about  us  in  the 
Catholic  Church.  After  all  is  said  and  done,  they 
are  really  better  and  more  useful  citizens  than  men 
of  gigantic  enterprises  and  huge  swindles ;  they  are 
really  happier  in  life,  and,  assuredly,  will  be  hap- 
pier after  death  than  the  frivolous  and  the  polished 
slaves  of  vice.  It  might  be  well  to  learn  a  lesson 
from  these  simple  poor. 


^ 


PASSING   AWAY. 


376 


The  short  winter  day  had  nearly  waned  into  night. 
Stars,  which  rivalled  in  their  sharp  glitenng  the  rays 
of  the  sunken  sun,  leaped  out  into  the  azure  field  of 
the  peaceful  sky.  The  pearly  whiteness  of  the  snow- 
carpet,  tesselated  with  feathered  dew-drops,  and  the 
pale  blue  canopy  of  night  studded  with  gems,  made 
the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence  appear  like  a  fairy 
castle  of  vast  dimensions.  The  frozen  river  formed 
a  crystal  pathway  from  end  to  end  of  the  gorgeous 
palace ;  trees  covered  with  hoar-frost  took  the  place 
of  magic  chandeliers,  and  the  faint  murmur  of  the 
water  chafing  against  its  icy  fetters  was  like  the 
soft  chanting  of  sportive  elves. 

Far  away  over  the  hills  the  hungry  wolves  yelped 
in  harsh  tones  ;  but  the  sound,  borne  on  the  tremu- 
lous air  lost  its  harshness,  and  came  as  pleasing 
music  to  the  river's  edge,  even  as  a  rude  soul 
is  chastened  and  refined  by  delicate  surround- 
in<?s. 

Every  voice,  no  matter  how  discordant,  was  at- 
tuned to  harmony  by  the  magic  of  the  limpid  atmos- 
phere. 

A  few  perches  down  the  river  a  huge  boulder 
raised  its  frc  vvning  head  high  above  the  ice.  The 
snow  had  covered  it,  but  had  b^ien  drifted  into  fan- 
tastic forms,  one  of  which  in  the  coming  gloaming 
assumed  the  appearance  of  a  woman.  It  reminded 
one  of  the  beautiful  Andromeda  chained  to  the 
rock  to  appease  the  wrath  of  insulted  Neptune. 
Heathen  mythology  could  not  surround  Cassio- 
peia's hapless  daughter  with  such  beauty  and  gran- 
deur as  were  here  revealed.    A  slim  fir-tree  waving 


r 


!ii: 


876 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


on  the  bank  looked  like  the  venturesome  Perseus 
preparing  to  bound  to  the  rescue  of  the  weeping 
maiden. 

No  bird-warbles  were  heard  from  the  drooping 
branches  of  the  pines ;  shrouded  gracefully  in  a  man- 
tie  of  purest  snow  thvey  bent  gently  earthward,  and 
lightly  swayed  in  the  faint  breeze. 

A  scarcely  perceptible  cloud  of  powdered  snow 
sped,  gyrating  over  the  polished  surface  of  the  ice 
like  faries  wliirling  in  the  mazes  of  some  fantastic 
dance. 

The  sharp  jingle  of  sleigh-bells  broke  from  time 
to  time  the  pleasing  spell  of  fairyland  as  shivering 
parties  drove  past.  The  horses  covered  with  white 
frost,  and  the  driver  enveloped  in  wolf-robes,  miglit 
easily  be  mistaken  for  the  death-king  taking  a  sur- 
vey of  his  cold  and  silent  domains. 

Mrs.  Leahy  had  come  to  the  door  of  her  house  to 
take  a  last  look  for  the  day  up  the  road  which  led 
to  the  nearest  railway  station.  A  sleigh  was  rapidly 
approaching ;  it  entered  by  the  open  gateway  and 
halted  within  a  yard  of  where  she  was  standing.  In 
a  moment  she  was  caught  by  the  strong  hands  of 
Morgan  who  hurriedly  asked  : 

"How  is  father?" 

"  Thank  God,  it  is  Morgan,"  was  all  Mrs.  Leahy 
could  answer. 

Eleanor  and  Mrs.  Barton  now  descended  from 
the  sleigh,  and  all  were  soon  seated  near  a  roaring 
grate. 

The  joy  and  pride  of  John  Leahy  as  his  son,  to 
gratify  the  good  old  man's  whim,  appeared  before 


^i 


PASSING    iWAY. 


377 


him  clad  in  his  Zouave  uniform,  and  wearing  his 
Men  tana  medal,  as  well  as  the  one  received  for 
devotion  to  duty  during  the  cholera  at  Albano,  were 
beyond  the  power  of  words  to  describe. 

Catching  Morgan's  arm  he  kissed  the  sleeve  of 
his  jacket,  saying: 

"  Glory  be  to  God,  I  have  seen  the  Pontifical 
uniform — and  that  on  a  son  of  my  own.  Now  I  can 
die  content.  Wear  it  every  day,  Morgan,  until  my 
death.  Next  to  dying  for  your  Faith,  the  most 
glorious  thing  is  to  fight  for  the  patrimony  of  St. 
Peter." 

For  a  few  days  more  the  old  man  lingered  ;  Mor- 
gan and  Eleanor  were  ever  at  his  bedside.  The 
waning  of  his  life  was  peaceful,  his  soul  was  filled 
with  hope.  The  parish  priest  was  assiduous  in  his 
visits,  and  administered  with  all  solemnity  the  last 
sacraments  of  the  Church.  With  a  profession  of 
Faith  still  quivering  on  his  lips,  with  a  calm  smile 
playing  over  his  countenance,  John  Leahy  passed 
away,  leaving  his  family  more  awe-stricken  than 
sorrowful. 

The  wintry  snow  rustles  lightly  over  his  grave, 
and  the  sparkling  frost  forms  a  circle  of  glory  around 
his  tomb. 

The  seed  has  been  cast  into  the  bed  of  immor- 
tality and  will,  ere  long,  germ,  and  burst  and  bud 
into  everlasting  life  at  the  sound  of  the  angel's 
trumpet. 

His  good  deeds,  shining  brighter  far  than  the 
frost-stars  which  bedeck  his  grave,  have  accom- 
panied his  soul  to  the  bar  of  justice.     They  alone 


878 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


of  all  earthly  possessions  are  prized  by  the  disen- 
thralled soul,  for  they  alone  can  rob  death  of  its 
sting  and  judgment  of  its  terrors. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


INJUSTICE     TBIUMPIIANT. 

Months  had  passed  since  the  body  of  John  Leahy 
had  been  consigned  to  its  kindred  clay.  The  icy 
gyves  which  had  bound  the  noble  St.  Lawrence  had 
long  since  melted  away ;  the  proud  river  leaped  and 
exulted  in  its  freedom,  and  bore  seaward  Canada's 
surplus  productions.  The  young  Dominion,  rash 
and  venturesome  like  a  young  man,  thought  to  cope 
in  trade  and  manufactures  with  its  older  and  more 
powerful  neighbors.  It  insanely  threw  open  its 
markets  to  foreign  products  while  its  manufactured 
goods  were  heavily  taxed  by  other  nations.  In  the 
year  1870  it  had  not  felt  severely  the  effect  of  this 
policy ;  but  a  day  was  to  come  on  which  it  would 
find  that  Canada  was  the  slaughter  market  of  the 
United  States ;  that  Canadian  industries  were  lan- 
guishing, and  Canadian  enterprise  paralyzed  by  an 
unwise  domestic  policy.  A  day  was  to  come  on 
which  thoughtful  men  could  see  no  hope  of  national 
prosperity  unless  by  a  wise  re-adjustment  of  tariff 
which  would  foster  home  manufactures. 

But  as  yet  the  crisis  had  not  come ;  the  rushing 
stream  bore  proudly  down  its  current  undeniable 


» 


INJUSTIOB  TRIUMPHANT. 


879 


tokens  of  onr  vast  resources.  By  land  and  water 
steana-power  was  at  work  subserving  the  purposes  of 
man. 

Slowly  ran,  freighted  with  old-time  memories,  the 
yellow  Tiber;  seen  from  the  Pincian  heights  it 
resembled  a  golden  thread  inwrought  on  an  emerald 
garment.  No  signs  of  busy  commerce  disturbed 
its  tranquility.  It  speaks  of  something  more  en- 
nobling than  gold  or  silver;  it  tells  of  greater 
glor'as  than  those  revealed  by  steamships  and  com- 
merce. Just  as  there  is  in  the  heart  of  man  some 
quiet  chamber  sacred  to  endearing  reminiscences, 
and  which  would  be  defiled  by  the  presence  of  selfish 
thoughts,  just  so  there  is  in  the  centre  of  civilization 
this  river  ovei-shadowed  by  classical  memories,  and 
free  from  the  vulgar  signs  of  sordid  greed.  It  is  a 
rest  spot  in  this  restless  world ;  a  river  on  whose 
banks  man  may  contemplate  primitive  modes  of 
living  and  primitive  charms  side  by  side  with  the 
greatest  works  of  genius.  It  retains  a  something  of 
the  peace  of  Eden  mingled  with  our  modern  life. 

It  was  the  19th  of  September,  1870.  The  even- 
ing was  drawing  on  apace.  The  sun  had  sunk  into 
the  Mediterranean  in  a  mist  of  ruby  and  opal.  A 
warm  glow  was  in  the  streets  of  Rome,  and  a  chill 
gust  of  air  played  on  the  Pincian  hill.  This  favorite 
place  of  public  resort  was  almost  deserted ;  it  was 
closed  against  citizens  and  open  only  to  the  military. 
Huge  guns  stood  grimly  on  the  gravelled  walks,  and 
piles  of  leaden  balls  disfigured  the  neatly  trimmed 
lawns.  A  lumbering  ambulance  had  been  wheeled 
over  a  bed  of  gorgeous  flowers ;  many  of  these  had 


880 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


raised  their  rich  clusters  around  the  unsightly 
object,  causing  it  to  suggest  the  idea  of  a  hideous 
old  bride  arrayed  in  garish  trappings.  Under  the 
shadow  of  a  grove  of  ilexes,  and  near  a  palm  tree 
which  seemed  from  its  desolate  appearance  to  be 
mourning  for  its  Eastern  home,  a  few  canvas  tents 
had  been  erected.  Small  groups  of  soldiers  were 
squatting  on  the  ground,  their  muskets  stacked,  like 
the  framework  of  an  Indian  wigwam,  near  by. 

Seated  on  the  basin  of  the  beautiful  fountain,  in 
the  centre  of  which  is  a  marble  figure  of  Pharaoh's 
daughter  picking  up  the  wicker  basket  that  contains 
the  youthful  Moses,  two  Zouaves  were  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation.  '  Their  forms  are  familiar, 
and  so  are  their  voices. 

"  I  have  seen  so  little  of  you,  Morgan,  since  your 
return  that  I  have  had  no  time  to  learn  the  particu- 
lars of  your  visit  td  Canada.  "We  are  likely  to  have 
a  few  spare  hours  now." 

It  was  Lorenzo  who  spoke,  but  not  the  bright, 
gay,  laughing  Lorenzo  of  yore.  He  was  prema- 
turely wan ;  his  handsome  face  was  pale  and  serious, 
almost  stern.  His  eyes  were  more  wistful  than 
formerly,  as  if  from  continually  looking  for  and 
never  finding  some  object.  A  smile,  which  was 
nearly  akin  to  an  expression  of  sadness,  hovered 
around  the  corners  of  liis  mouth  as  he  spoke;  but 
when  he  glanced  over  the  Pincian  wall,  and  ran  his 
eye  along  the  dim  outlines  of  Mount  Parioli,  be- 
neath whose  shadow  he  supposed  the  enemy 
encamped,  a  gleam  of  subdued  joy  and  triumph  lit 
up  his  noble  countenance.    Perhaps  lie  thought  of 


■f 


INJUSTICE  TRIUMPHANT. 


381 


a  glorious  death  on  tho  morrow  in  a  holy  cause ;  or 
perhaps  he  pictured  Eleanor  listening  with  rapt 
enthusiasm  to  Morgan's  account  of  his  bravery ;  or 
perhaps  his  young  and  weary  heart  was  opening 
once  more  to  the  many  roses  which  life  ever  bears 
even  along  its  most  thorny  road. 

"  The  particulars  are  easily  given,  Lorenzo.  Wo 
were,  as  you  know,  summoned  home  to  c^ir  father's 
death-bed.  Quietly  and  happily  he  pasb'  i  away 
shortly  after  our  return.  Lorenzo,  hi*'  death  was 
most  edifying ;  I  would  not  exchange  such  a  r^r  ath 
as  his  ly:  all  the  glories  this  world  can  boei'  w;  my 
V mother  wished  me  to  remain  at  home,  and  I  con- 
seu,ted,  thinking  that  no  dangers  would  thrcutcn  the 
Holy  See.  When,  however,  I  read  of  the  with- 
drawal of  the  French  troops  shortly  after  the  out- 
break of  the  present  Franco-Prussian  War,  I  deemed 
it  my  duty  to  return.  Need  I  say  how  glad  1  am 
that  I  arrived  in  time  to  fight  again  for  the  rights 
of  the  Church  ?  But  tell  me  how  this  impious  in- 
vasion began." 

"  That  I  can  soon  do,"  said  Lorenzo.  "  When  tho 
French  troops  were  withdrawn  the  reverses  of  France 
began.  I  am  not,  so  you  know  Morgan,  supersti- 
tious ;  but  I  cannot  close  my  eyes  to  facts.  There 
were  a  few  French  soldiers  in  the  Pontifical  States 
when  the  first  encounter  took  place  between  the 
French  and  Prussian  armies.  In  it  the  former  were 
successful.  The  soldiers  of  France  were  taken  away 
from  the  Pope's  dominions,  and  on  that  very  day 
the  French  lost  in  battle  exactly  as  many  men  as 
were  embarked  at  Civita  Yecchia.    Since  that  time 


ti' 


liPiW-liJi^ 


382 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


defeat  has  followed  defeat;  the  gallant  army  so 
often  in  the  past  victorious  has  been  crushed  and 
almost  annihilated  at  Sedan,  scarce  tliree  weeks 
since.  Napoleon  is  a  prisoner;  his  dynasty  has 
been  overthrown;  his  wife  and  son  arc  fugitives. 
Men  may  attriljute  this  to  the  superior  power  of 
Prussia;  be  that  power  what  it  may,  I  see  in  tliis 
sad  humiliation  of  France  an  avenging  God.'* 

"  About  that  there  can  scarcely  be  a  doubt ;  the 
semi-barbarous  German  may  be  brave,  but  his  bravery 
is  not  greater  than  that  of  the  Frank." 

"  Well,"  continued  Lorenzo,  "  the  Piedmontcso 
Government  saw  in  the  defeat  of  France  and  the  con- 
fusion of  Europe,  an  opportunit}'  of  seizing  the  last 
remaining  territory  of  the  Pope.  Victor  Emanuel, 
who  is  the  catspaw  of  the  Revolution,  addressed  a 
letter  to  the  Holy  Father  asking  to  be  allowed  to 
occupy  the  Roman  States.  Of  course  the  Pope  re- 
fused; and  the^;  without  declaration  of  war,  the 
Piedmontese  army  crosses  the  frontier  and  marches 
on  to  Rome.  On  the  12thCivit{\  Castellana  was  at- 
tacked. An  army  numbering  nearly  70,000  men, 
well  provided  with  artillery,  has  been  advancing  in 
three  divisions.  One  of  these  you  narrowly  escaped 
the  other  day  when  you  succeeded  in  reaching  tlio 
city.  The  Pope  seeing  that  it  would  be  a  useless 
loss  of  life  for  small  garrisons  to  resist  such  an  army, 
ordered  them  to  fall  back  on  the  Capital.  On  the 
14th,  our  company,  under  the  personal  command  of 
De  Charette,  arrived  from  Yiterbo.  At  once  the 
work  of  fortifying,  as  well  as  we  could,  the  city  was 
begun.    In  many  places  the  walls  are  weak  and  can- 


INJUSTICE  TRIUMPHANT. 


383 


not  offer  a  serious  resistance  to  modern  artillery. 
Civitii  Yecchia  fell  on  the  17th,  the  day  on  which 
you  entered.  We  are  now  surrounded  by  a  large 
army;  our  own  is,  as  you  know,  quite  small,  num- 
bering only  13,000,  or  less.  We  are  cut  off  from 
all  communication  with  the  outside  world ;  breaches 
will  soon  be  made  in  the  wall  and  then — " 

"  Then  what,  Lorenzo  ?" 

But  Lorenzo's  rifle  was  raised ;  he  ran  forward  a 
few  paces,  and  a  quick  report  followed  by  a  sharp 
cry  of  pain  from  a  small  copse  in  the  Villa  Bor- 
ghese  told  that  the  quick  eye  of  Lorenzo  had 
espied  an  enemy  approaching  too  near,  and  his  sure 
aim  had  laid  him  low.  In  an  instant  every  soldier 
leaped  to  his  feet ;  the  squatting  groups  arose  as  if 
by  magic ;  the  apparently  listless  loungers  who  sat 
on  gun-carriage  and  ambulance  awoke  to  sudden 
animation  and  life.  Each  soldier  seized  his  rifle 
from  the  "stack,"  and  fell  in  line  ere  the  ofliicers 
could  give  the  orders.  In  the  gathering  shade  of 
night,  there  was  something  awe-inspiring  in  the 
quick  and  silent  forming  of  line  ;  something  grand- 
ly heroic  in  the  ready  courage  of  these  few  men 
preparing  to  resist  an  enemy  of  well-known  strength. 

Lorenzo  informed  the  officer  in  command  of  the 
cause  of  his  firing ;  no  other  enemy  being  in  sight, 
an  extra -guard  was  posted  on  the  declivity  by  the 
broken  wall,  in  a  position  to  command  a  view  of  the 
road  beneath,  and  also  of  the  neighboring  villa. 
The  ranks  were  then  broken  at  the  word  of  com- 
mand ;  the  rifles  were  again  stacked ;  tongues  were 
loosened  in  sprightly  chatj  groups  were  reformed 


384 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


on  the  grass,  and  apparently  listless  loungers  sat 
again  on  gun-carriage  and  ambulance. 

Morgan  and  Lorenzo  sought  a  quiet  resting-place 
beneath  the  shade  of  a  clump  of  laurel. 

"  You  ended  your  last  sentence  rather  abruptly," 
began  Morgan.  "  What  will  take  place  after  breach- 
es shall  have  been  made  in  the  walls  ?" 

"  Carnage,"  answered  Lorenzo,  "  a  dreadful  car- 
nage. We  are  ready  to  die  to  the  last  man ;  the 
enemy  is  numerous — what  else  can  ensue?" 

"Nothing  else,  so  far  as  I  can  see;  unless  in- 
deed," he  added  after  a  pause,  "  the  Pope  should 
command  us  to  desist.  He  may  only  offer  resist- 
ance enough  to  prove  that  his  dominions  were  wrest- 
ed from  him  by  violence." 

"  Well,  Morgan,  your  conjecture  may  be  right. 
I  am  not  reckless  nor  impious  enough  to  commit 
suicide ;  but  I  must  say  that  I  did  look  forward  to 
giving  my  life  for  the  defence  of  Rome.  I  half 
hoped  that  I  was  worthy  of  the  honor.** 

"  Perhaps  you  are,  Lorenzo ;  and  perhaps  you 
may  fall  in  the  fight ;  but  if  the  Holy  Father  deem 
it  expedient  not  to  resist  to  the  last  extremity  you 
can  live  for  other  noble  purposes." 

"  Alas  !^'  said  Lorenzo  mournfully,  "  I  have  now 
on  other  purpose  in  life  than  that  of  dying  for  the 
rights  of  Holy  Church.  All  the  brightness  has  gone 
out  from  my  path ;  all  hope  of  earthly  happiness 
has  been  crushed.  I  am  an  old  man  in  my  youth, 
inasmuch  as  I  have  outlived  my  hopes  and  aspira- 
tions ;  but  I  have  not  the  merciful  infirmity  of  old 
age  to  cheer  me  with  the  expectation  of  a  speedy 


INJUSTICE  TRIUMPHANT. 


385 


ending  of  my  sorrows.  For  you,  Morgan,  every- 
thing is  bright.  Your  mind  sees  things  in  a  differ- 
ent light  from  mine.  I  can  only  have  a  companion- 
ship of  intellect  with  few ;  and  no  physical  suffer- 
ing is  equal  to  the  desolation  of  a  mind  not  called 
to  serve  God  in  a  state  of  celibacy  and  yet  com- 
panionless.  The  priest,  the  monk,  the  nun,  are  not 
in  this  desolate  condition  ;  they  are  called  to  choose 
God  for  their  portion,  and  have  tender  sympathies 
with  all  mankind.  But  it  is  not  so  with  the  lonely 
like  me." 

Lorenzo's  voice  had  sunk  so  low,  that  he  ap- 
peared to  be  holding  converse  with  himself  rather 
than  with  Morgan.  The  latter  kindly  laid  his  hand 
on  his  friend's  arm,  and  said  : 

"  Come,  Lorenzo,  you  are  too  young  to  be  speak- 
ing in  this  sad  tone.  Life  has  its  ills,  but  it  has  its 
joys ;  the  latter  are  more  numerous  and  more  last- 
ing than  the  former  if  we  only  do  our  duty  in  a 
proper  spirit.  Roses  spring  up  on  all  sides.  We 
may  crush  this  one  with  our  foot,  but  another 
equally  beautiful  will  bud  and  blossom  near  by." 

"  There  are  some  roses,"  slowly  replied  Lorenzo, 
"which  can  never,  in  our  stimation,  be  equalled. 
But  I  must  not  inflict  my  trouble  on  you.  How 
did  you  leave  Mrs.  Barton  and — and  your — friends  ?" 

"Mrs.  Barton  sas  well,  but  not  very  joyous. 
My  mother  is  fast  following  my  poor  father,  and 
Eleanor  is  bowed  down  with  some  great  grief." 

"  Naturally  she  feels  the  death  of  your  father  and 
her  mother's  sickness."  ' 

"  It  is  not  that  alone,"  said  Morgan  confidently. 
17 


886 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


"  Ever  since  the  last  night  she  was  in  Rome  she  has 
changed.  Pardon  me  Lorenzo  if  I  woimd  you; 
but  you  know  I  love  you  both  very  dearly,  and  I 
say  I  think  there  must  have  been  some  misunder- 
standing." 

Lorenzo  flushed  with  emotion,  though  the  faint 
light  of  a  young  moon  did  not  reveal  the  fact  to  his 
companion's  gaze. 

"  Do  you  know  what  passed  between  us  on  that 
nif;ht  r 

"  Only  as  much  as  I  could  guess,"  replied  Mor- 
gan. 

"  Well,  then,  I  asked  Eleanor  to  be  wife,  and  re- 
ferred her  to  you  for  a  knowledge  of  myself  and  my 
circumstances.     She  refused." 

"  There  is  some  unexplained  mystery,"  said  Mor- 
gan ;  "  I  am  sure  Eleanor's  aEections  were  un- 
engaged ;  and  I  think  she  loves  you." 

"Ah,  Morgan,  if  I  could  think  so  a  new  life 
would  begin  for  me ;  but  she  said,  *  I  cannot  now 
accept  your  love. ' " 

"Promise  me,  Lorenzo,  not  to  be  despondent, 
and  that  you  will  visit  Canada  if  you  survive  this 
campaign." 

"  I  promise  you,  Morgan." 

The  crescent  moon  sank  behind  the  dusky  out- 
anes  of  Mount  Mario. 

A  screech-owl  hooted  from  the  belfry  of  Santa 
Maria  del  Popolo. 

The  night-gun  boomed  from  Castel  San  Angelo. 

About  this  same  hour  a  solitary  figure  might  have 
been  seen  gliding  cautiously  over  that  undulating 


iii 


INJUSTICE  TRIUMPHANT. 


387 


tract  of  country  which  lies  between  the  Nomentana 
and  Salara  "Ways,  and  in  that  exact  portion  of  it 
which  contains  the  villa  owned  by  the  Irish  College. 
Now  nimbly  running  between  rows  of  clustering 
vines;  now  crawling  on  all  fours  in  the  shade  of 
some  low  boxwood  ;  now  listening  at  the  edge  of  an 
olive  grove,  and  then  quietly  but  confidently  advanc- 
ing. Wary  as  an  Indian  on  the  war-trail,  and 
supple  as  a  trained  athlete,  the  figure  had  crossed 
the  wliole  country  from  Villa  Borghese  to  the  spot 
where  it  now  rested. 

A  faint  beam  from  the  sotting  moon  wandered 
up  a  deep  valley,  having  entered  by  a  break  between 
the  range  of  hills,  and  fell  upon  the  person  whose 
actions  we  have  noted.  It  glinted  upon  the  polished 
rifle  which  he  bore  ;  it  played  upon  his  costume  of 
a  Zouave ;  and  it  revealed  the  form  and  face  of 
Peppe.  Yes,  it  was  that  adventurous  individual. 
He,  along  with  a  few  others,  had  been  sent  out  as 
scouts  ;  he  had  pushed  on  until  he  was  now  close 
upon  the  enemy,  who  were  throwing  up  earthworks, 
and  mounting  cannon  on  the  brow  of  a  low  hill  hard 
by  the  Irish  Villa.  He  was  not  two  hundred  yards 
distant,  and  saw  and  heard  enough  to  know  that  one 
of  the  chief  points  of  attack  on  the  north  and  west 
of  Rome  would  be  near  Porta  Via. 

Peppe  brought  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  and  then 
stood  irresolute. 

"  I  can  bring  down  that  officer,  but  is  it  manly  ? 
Besides,  I  might  be  shot  in  return,  and  thus  our 
men  would  lose  the  benefit  of  my  observations  of 
the  enemy's  position.    It  is  almost  too  bad,  bow- 


888 


AFTER  WEARY  TEARS. 


ever,  to  let  these  villains  work  in  peace.  I  will  re- 
tire to  that  bramble-girt  path  yonder  and  decide." 

Thus  soliloquized  Peppe,  and  then  he  quietly  re- 
turned to  the  path  in  question.  It  was  narrow  and 
almost  overshadowed  bv  the  briars  and  wild  vines 
which  grew  profusely  on  each  side. 

"  Let  me  see,"  began  Peppe ;  "  this  lane  leads  not 
to  the  road  but  to  the  banks  of  the  Tiber ;  then  there 
is  a  quiet  valley  nearly  to  the  foot  of  the  Pinciaii 
wall.  They  will  never  distinguish  whence  comes 
the  report.     I  will  give  them  a  fright." 

He  drew  aside  some  vine-trails  and  peered  througli 
the  opening.  He  raised  his  rifle  again  a'  d  paused. 
"  We  were  not  to  court  danger ;  that  was  our  order. 
Am  I  courting  danger  ?  Yes ;  no  ; — Yes — no — no 
no!" 

A  shrill  report ;  a  startled  exclamation  from  tlie 
group  of  sappers ;  the  oflScer  in  command  called  to 
arms,  but  ere  he  was  obeyed  Peppe  was  beyond  dan- 
ger. Reaching  the  banks  of  the  Tiber  he  reloaded 
his  musket  and  walked  quickly  along  a  winding  ra- 
vine, and  within  half  an  hour  he  was  relating  his  ad- 
ventures to  his  comrades  on  Monte  Pincio.  Owing 
to  his  report  of  the  position  of  the  enemy  nearly  all 
the  Zouaves  were,  during  the  early  night,  marched 
from  the  Pincio  to  Porta  Pia. 


Nemesis,  the  Goddess  of  Vengeance,  was  the  fabled 
daughter  of  Night.  On  such  a  night  as  that  of  the 
19th  September,  1870,  she  must  surely  have  been 
born  to  be  prepared  to  avenge  the  wrongs  about  to 
be  inflicted  by  lawless  might  against  justice. 


^m 


INJUSTICE  TKIUMPIIANT. 


389 


The  bright  constellations  pursued  their  various 
courses;  the  gleeful  nightingale  carolled  from  its 
laurel-embosomed  throne ;  the  unconscious  Tiber 
saluted,  now  with  a  low  murmur  of  admiration,  now 
with  a  rippling  silvery  laugh,  Rome  its  eternal  bride. 
All  nature  was  quiet  and  beautiful,  a  faint  image  of 
Eden's  glory.  But  the  same  crafty  serpent  which 
beguiled  Eve  into  disobedience  was  busy  now  urging 
on  the  last  act  in  "  United  Italy's  "  fatal  drama. 

For  eighteen  hundred  years  the  conquered  Lucifer 
had  measured  his  strength  against  that  of  the  Church. 
Fierce  violence,  treachery,  deceitful  tranquility,  the 
enervating  power  of  riches  and  command — each  and 
all  had  been  tried,  but  all  in  vain.  Despite  the  con- 
spiracy of  the  impious,  and  the  base  slanders  of 
blasphemous  scribblers,  the  Church  was  more  wide- 
spread, more  vigorous,  more  united  than  ever  before. 
It  was  of  no  use  to  attack  dogmas  of  belief ;  the  un- 
believing would  be  cut  off  from  the  Church.  It  was 
of  no  avail  to  attempt  corruption  of  morals;  the 
children  of  the  Faith  had  the  inestimable  gift  of  the 
Sacraments.  It  was  bad  policy  to  openly  persecute ; 
it  only  strengthened  and  purified.  All  this  was 
clear  to  Satan  and  his  instruments  on  earth.  One 
only  hope  remained ;  viz.,  to  destroy  the  temporal 
independence  of  the  Pope ;  to  cut  down  the  watch- 
tower  from  which  the  Vicar  on  earth  of  Christ  kept 
watch  and  ward  over  the  vast  fold ;  and  from  which, 
free  from  the  restraint  of  a  worldlv  master,  he  en- 
couraged,  reproved,  cast  out,  or  took  back. 

To  crush  the  Faith  of  Christ  by  reducing  the  Pope 
to  slavery  was  the  project  of  the  arch  enemy  of  man. 


390 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


For  years  he  had  worked  upon  the  passions  of  some, 
and  in  the  national  spirit  of  otliers  to  build  up  a 
"  United  Italy,"  with  Rome  as  its  capital.  Step  by 
step,  in  the  third  quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
the  plan  approached  completion.  The  faithful  could 
only  pray ;  nations  looked  on  and  offered  no  resist- 
ance. The  net  had  been  cast  over  Italy,  and  now 
only  Home  remained  to  be  drawn  within  its  meshes. 
To  the  eyes  of  those  who  did  not  believe  in  the  Divine 
origin  of  the  Church  its  destruction  appeared  so  cer- 
tain that  one  exultingly  said :  "  If  the  Roman  Church 
escapes  this  time  I  will  believe  that  it  is  Divine  in  its 
origin."  What  does  he  and  others  think  now  ?  Has 
it  not  survived? 

The  gray  mist  on  the  Campagna  had  not  been  dis- 
sipated, ror  even  had  it  been  crested  with  white  and 
gold,  when  the  loud  booming  of  cannon  startled 
every  sleeper  and  shook  the  time-worn  walls  of 
Rome.  It  was  five  o'clock  of  the  morning  of  20th 
September,  1870.  Soon  a  furious  cannonading  be- 
gan against  the  "  Porta  Pia,"  the  "  Porta  San  Gio- 
vanni," and  the  "  Porta  San  Pancrazio."  The  buzz 
of  leaden  balls  and  the  sharp  whistling  of  shells  could 
be  heard  between  the  sullen  roar  of  belching  cannon. 
Future  generations  will  be  confounded  and  sorely 
puzzled  to  understand  how  sucli  an  unprovoked,  law- 
less and  demoralizing  attack  should  have  been  al- 
lowed by  Europe.  The  foul  sin  will  have  to  be  ex- 
piated by  every  European  nation,  and  expiated  by 
the  blood  of  its  citizens.  A  Nemesis  was  born  dur- 
ing that  assault,  and  the  blood  alone  of  those  king- 
doms which  in  act  or  counsel  participated  therein 


INJUSTICE  TRIUMPHANT. 


391 


can  appease  its  vengeance.  Wo  are  compelled  to 
read,  even  to  nausea,  the  grandiloquent  harangues 
of  half-crazy  demagogues,  and  the  sickening  cant  of 
addle-pated  rogues  about  the  enlightenment  and 
civilization  of  our  age.  And  yet  millions  of  soldiers 
armed  to  the  teeth  are  held  in  readiness;  gross 
swindles  and  petty  frauds  abound ;  the  moral  virtues 
are  outraged  according  to  a  scientific  rule. 

Since  the  hand  of  Cain  was  imbrued  with  frater- 
nal blood  guilty  violence  has  known  but  a  short 
truce ;  the  demon-inspired  murderer,  whether  as  a 
craven  assassin,  or  as  a  wager  of  unjust  wars,  has 
ever  skulked  in  the  byways  of  life,  or  wildly  rushed 
through  its  public  thoroughfares.  Now,  as  ever, 
the  Church  of  God  is  the  only  bright  spot  amid  the 
nations ;  and  nowj  as  ever,  raging  enemies  seek  to 
efface  it  or  to  mar  its  heaven-born  beauty.  Rebel- 
lion against  its  authority  is  the  fruitful  mother  of 
the  crimes  and  miseries  of  so  many  kingdoms. 

The  bright  September  sun  rose  from  out  the 
mists  of  the  Campagna  and  the  smoke  of  the  can- 
non. Faint  emblem  of  the  all-seeing  eye  of  God,  it 
looks  on  scenes  of  bloodshed  as  calmly  as  on  deeds 
of  heroic  virtue ;  but  a  day  will  come  when  it  will 
refuse  its  light  and  shall  seem  to  scowl  upon  the 
impious,  even  as  the  face  of  the  avenging  judge 
will  be  changed  in  its  aspect  towards  the  wicked. 

Against  a  weak  portion  of  the  walls  near  "  Porta 
Pia"  the  chief  attack  was  directed.  The  magnificent 
gateway  called  "  Porta  Pia"  had  been  but  recently 
completed.  An  embankment  had  been  thrown  up 
across  its  entrance,  and  a  few  pieces  of  artillery  had 


3d2 


AFtER  WEARY  YEARS. 


been  mounted  under  its  cover.  These  replied  with- 
out intermission  to  the  batteries  of  the  enemy  posted 
on  a  declivity  between  the  Salara  and  Nomentana 
Roads.  Captain  Delahide,  a  gallant  Irishman,  com- 
manded the  Zouaves  near  Porta  Pia.  Morgan  and 
Lorenzo  had  been  drafted  off  from  the  Pincian  Hill 
during  the  night,  and  were  now  under  Captain  De* 
lahide's  orders. 

As  yet  there  was  nothing  for  the  infantry  to  do ; 
it  was  an  artillery  duel.  The  roar  of  cannon,  the 
excitement  of  the  surroundings,  and  above  all  a 
noble  indignation  at  the  vile  and  unprovoked  assault, 
made  the  soldiers  impatient  of  restraint.  Lorenzo 
only  expressed  the  general  feeling  when  he  said : 

"This  is  tiresome  work,  Morgan,  waiting  idly 
here.  I  wish  we  had  orders  to  sally  forth  and  cap- 
ture that  battery.  We  would  make  a  Montana  of 
that  hillside." 

"I,  too,  find  our  duty  irksome.  However,  we 
must  remember  that  true  valor  is  always  prudent. 
We  are  but  a  handful  opposed  to  the  thousands  who 
surround  us.  At  Mentana  our  enemy  was  little 
more  than  double  our  number ;  these  Piedmontese 
are  five  times  more  numerous  than  we,  and  well 
provided  with  heavy  cannon." 

"  That  is  all  very  true,  Morgan,  but  we  are  here 
to  defend  this  city  of  Rome  against  its  assailants. 
We  can  fight  till  we  die,  and  from  our  blood  will 
spring  up  legions  of  defenders  of  St.  Peter's  Chair. 
I  always  admired  the  expression  of  Tertullian  that 
"  the  blood  of  martyrs  is  the  seed  of  Christians."  See 
how  it  has  been  verified  by  your  Canada.    A  small 


INJUSTICE  TRIUMPHANT. 


893 


quantity  of  Canadian  blood  was  shed  on  the  slopes 
of  Mentana,  and  scarce  had  the  earth  drunk  the  ruby 
tide  ere  three  hundred  of  your  fellow-citizens  sprang 
to  arms  in  defence  of  Holy  Church." 

"  Yes,"  said  Morgan  with  u  look  of  pardonable 
pride,  "  and  thousands  would  be  xere  to-day  did  they 
know  of  this  sacreligious  war.  In  the  mean  time 
those  who  are  here  will  do  their  share  when  the  in- 
fantry attack  commences." 

At  every  point  the  Pontifical  soldiers  were  ani- 
mated with  feelings  of  devoted  courage,  and  would 
have  eagerly  welcomed  the  command  to  sally  forth. 
It  is  useless  now  to  speculate  on  what  might  have 
been ;  but  those  who  know  what  was  the  spirit  of 
the  brave  men  who  fought  for  Rome,  feel  sure  that 
had  the  struggle  been  continued  to  the  bitter  end, 
few,  if  any,  of  Victor  Emanuel's  seventy  thousand 
would  have  set  foot  in  the  Eternal  City. 

The  fierce  cannonading  waxed  louder  and  sharper. 
Shells  wildly  screamed  through  the  peaceful  air, 
and  often  ricochetted  from  pavement  to  palace  wall. 
Terrified  groups  of  citizens  spoke  in  subdued  tones, 
and  with  blanched  faces  endeavored  to  appear  fear- 
less. The  wildest  reports  regarding  the  assault  and 
defence  ran  unquestioned  through  the  crowd. 
Shops  were  closed ;  iron  shutters  on  the  palaces  of 
the  aristocracy  whose  hinges  had  grown  rusty  from 
long  disuse  were  heard  to  creak  and  complain,  as 
frightened  footmen  swung  them  forward. 

Many  foreignere  raised  the  flag  of  their  country 
over  their  residences,  and  then  sat  down  to  wait  the 
issue  of  the  battle.  '_':'         • 

17* 


394 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


In  the  Vatican  Palace  the  venerable  Pontiff  whose 
virtues  had  endeared  him  to  the  hearts  of  Catholics, 
and  whose  unmerited  misfortunes  have  thrown  a 
lialo  of  awe  and  reverence  around  his  name,  sat  and 
sadly  listened  to  the  iron  music  of  the  rattling  guns. 
Some  Cardinals  and  the  ambassadors  accredited  to 
the  Holy  See  were  present;  these  conversed  in  low 
tones  or  moved  restlessly  from  seat  to  seat.  Pius 
IX.,  alone,  calm  to  all  outward  seeming,  neither 
spoke  nor  moved.  His  noble  countenance  wore  an 
expression  of  pensive  sadness  but  showed  no  sign 
of  fear. 

Who  can  paint  the  varying  emotions  of  his  great 
soul.  He  heard  the  wild  huzzas,  the  joyful  shouts 
which  hailed  his  accession  to  the  Pontifical  throne ; 
he  heard  the  rabble-cry  of  ungrateful  and  plotting 
Revolutionists  besieging  the  Quirinal  Palace  in 
1848 ;  he  heard  the  death-cry  of  the  fearless  De 
Kossi,  his  murdered  minister,  and  the  hypocritical 
professions  of  his  enemies.  He  thought  of  all  he 
had  done  for  Italy  and  for  the  world,  and  of  the  in- 
juries inflicted  upon  him.  And  now  in  his  old  age, 
the  last  bitter  dregs  of  his  chalice  is  presented  to  his 
lips  by  an  organized  Government  which  had  pro- 
mised to  respect  and  defend  his  territory.  That 
promise  is  shamelessly  broken;  the  pretended  de- 
fenders are  thundering  at  the  gates  of  his  capital ; 
their  missiles  are  falling  in  his  city,  and  he  will  soon 
be  a  prisoner.  Had  he  been  other  than  Pius  IX.,  a 
wild  feeling  of  revenge  and  war  to  the  death  might 
have  been  admitted  ;  but  the  image  of  the  Crucified, 
to-day  saluted  with  paeans  of  joy  and  to-morrow 


INJUSTICE  TRIUMPHANT. 


390 


betray jd  and  reviled,  rose  up  before  him  and  caused 
him  to  repeat)  "  The  servant  is  not  greater  than  his 
master" ;  "  If  they  have  persecuted  me,  they  will 
persecute  you." 

It  was  now  10  o'clock.  A  considerable  breach 
had  been  made  in  the  walls  near  Porta  Fia.  Dark 
lines  of  infantry,  under  shelter  of  the  enemy's  bat- 
teries were  moving  forward  to  the  assault.  The 
Pontifical  soldiers  were  impatiently  awaiting  their 
advance.  '.  few  shots  at  a  long  range  had  already 
been  firea.  Lorenzo,  grasping  Morgan's  hand, 
whispered : 

"  Only  over  my  body  shall  the  enemy  enter  that 
breach.  Good  by;  and  if  you  survive  me  tell 
Eleanor  how  I  died,  and  that  my  dying  lips  prayed 
for  her  happiness.  Peppe,  addioy  and  be  a  hero 
to-day." 

The  bugle  sounded  the  advance.  Calm  and 
stern,  Lorenzo  brough  his  rifle  "  to  rest,"  and  leaped 
the  first  to  the  front  of  the  breach.  The  head  of 
the  enemy's  column  came  in  sight  round  a  hedge- 
row. Lorenzo's  musket  flashed,  and  the  first  man 
of  the  advancing  line  bit  the  dust. 

But  now  the  hostile  batteries  ceased  ;  the  ad- 
vancing ranks  stood  still,  and  a  superior  officer  came 
galloping  up  to  the  wondering  Zouaves,  and  ordered 
them  to  desist. 

Suprise,  incredulity,  and  indignation  were  all 
mingled  in  the  looks  of  the  soldiers.  To  their  noble 
and  generous  souls  it  appeared  cowardly  and  unwise 
to  cease  firing  whilst  an  enemy  was  at  the  gate. 
They  had  panted  for  a  glorious  charge  under  the 


(i:?:.!!! 


396 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


r; 
-.■(■ 


banner  of  fet.  Peter,  and  led  by  the  standard  of  the 
Archangel  St.  Micliael,  and  jnst  as  they  were  about 
to  begin,  the  order  to  surrender  came. 

Yet  so  it  was.  We  will  not  now  seek  to  deter- 
mine whether  or  not,  the  Pope's  policy  was,  in  a 
worldly  point  of  view,  advisable.  A  resistance  to 
the  bitter  end  would  have  in  all  probability  an- 
nilnlated  the  invading  force  and  half  destroyed 
Rome. 

Pius  IX.  was  the  Pope  of  Peace,  and  perhaps  of 
a  too  great  clemency.  He  wished  to  spare  the 
effusion  of  human  blood,  and  at  the  same  time,  to 
give  proof  to  the  woild  that  he  did  not  surrender 
his  riglits.  Hence,  on  the  evening  previous  to  the 
assault,  he  wrote  to  General  Kanzler  ordering  iiim 
to  raise  the  white  flas:  whei^'^vor  a  breach  would 
have  been  made  in  the  walls.  Thus  would  lives  be 
spared,  and  undeniable  proofs  given  that  the  Pope 
yielded  only  to  force. 

In  nlmost  sullen  o-loom  the  Pontifical  soldiers 
lowered  their  arms.  They  felt  how  bitter  is  the 
sacrifice  which  duty  often  requires.  They  experi- 
enced how  cruel  are  at  times  the  tests  to  which 
noble  souls  are  subjected.  They  could  clearly  un- 
derstand that  the  path  of  duty  and  honor  may  ap- 
pear to  the  unthinking  a  road  of  shame  and  igno- 
miny. 

They  were  brave,  resolute,  and  well-trained. 
They  were  foruied  to  tread  the  highest  walks  of 
military  glory,  but  now  their  virtues  compelled 
them  to  accept  the  part  of  a  defeated  army.  Yet 
they  gained  a  nobler  victory  than  that  of  conquering 


INJUSTICE  TRIUMPHANT. 


397 


deter- 


igno- 


armed  warriore;  they  were  victorious  over  them- 
selvep.  How  often  in  the  life  of  each  of  us  are  onr 
greatest  victories  apparent  defeats ;  and  our  deepest 
humiliation  enduring  triumphs!  We  may  rejoice 
amid  the  glitter  of  outward  success,  hut  we  can  only 
reign  through  sacrifice  and  tears. 

The  invading  army  hecame  masters  of  the  place. 
Those  of  the  Pontifical  soldiers  who  did  not  shut 
themselves  up  in  Castel  San  Angelo  were  disarmed, 
and  marched  through  the  streets  as  prisoners  of 
war.  Vile  scoundrels  insulted  them  as  they  passed. 
It  was  the  last  dregs  of  their  chalice  of  humilia- 
tion. 

A  swarm  of  pickpockets,  blacklegs,  and  assasains — 
the  offscourings  of  the  cities  of  Italy — entered  Rome 
in  the  wake  of  the  invaders.  The  mob  opened  most 
of  the  jails  and  swelled  their  ranks  with  the  freed 
prisoners. 

Yelling  and  hooting  filled  the  erst  quiet  streets, 
and  degraded  wretches  who  had  plotted  long  for 
this,  wildly  clasped  each  other's  hands,  and  shouted 
until  they  were  hoarse. 

The  aspect  of  the  city  changed  as  if  by  magic. 
The  good  were  shut  up  in  their  houses,  and  only 
the  swarm  of  plunderers  and  plotters  were  abroad. 
Thieves  ran  through  the  streets  bearing  stolen  goods 
and  crying,  Viva  la  libertd!  ("Hurrah  for  Lib- 
erty !") 

The  colors  of  "United  Italy"  waved  from 
balconies,  fluttered  on  the  hats  of  men,  and  dangled 
from  the  bridles  of  donkeys. 

All  that  sad  afternoon,  and  far  up  in  the  night, 


398 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS* 


the  uproar  continued.  Hell  kept  high  carnival,  and 
demons  laughed  hideously;  for  Rome  had  fallen, 
the  Pope  was  a  prisoner,  and  Injustice  was  triumph- 
ant. 


CHAPTER  XXYII. 


DISBANDED. 


"GooD-BY  Morgan,  a  thousand  times  good-by; 
may  we  soon  meet  again  under  our  old  banner ;  this 
cruel  ending  of  all  my  fond  hopes  almost  unmans 


me. 


)) 


"  We  will  not  say  good-by  yet,  Lorenzo ;  we  will 
be  together  when  we  lay  down  our  arms.  But  do 
not,  my  dear  friend,  be  so  down-hearted,  you  are 
not  conquered,  although  about  to  surrender." 

"  I  know  it,  Morgan ;  we  are  not  conquered ;  but 
this  only  serves  to  add  to  my  regret.  Why  wore 
we  not  allowed  to  fight  while  a  man  remained  in 
the  breach?  Had  we  exhausted  every  available 
means  of  defence  I  would  not  find  it  so  hard  to  give 
up  my  arms.  Oh,  had  tliat  messenger  from  our 
commander  been  only  ten  minutes  later,  we  would 
have  been  in  the  midst  of  a  desperate  struggle.  We 
would  have  made  the  enemy  feel  the  strength  of  our 
resistance." 

"  It  is  better,  Lorenzo,  not  to  question  the  wisdom 
of  our  Holy  Father  in  not  continuing  the  battle. 
No  one  can  doubt  the  heroism  of  his  army  or  its 


t)iSBANbEDi 


399 


devotion  to  his  cause.  "We  will  prove  our  devotion 
in  the  humiliation  of  this  surrender  even  as  we 
proved  it  in  the  defence  of  Porta  Pia.  Injustice 
has  triumphed  for  the  present;  but  God  lives,  and 
although  the  shallow  may  laugh  at  our  hopes,  we 
tnow  that  a  day  will  come  when  His  Providence 
and  our  cause  shall  be  vindicated." 

"  You  are  right,  Morgan ;  and  I  feel  all  this  in 
theory;  but  it  is  so  hard,  so  hard  to  appeal*  con- 
quered when  we  are  not." 

Poor  Lorenzo  expressed  in  this  the  difio^culty  we 
all  experience  in  gaining  a  victory  over  ourselves. 
We  know  what  is  right  to  be  done  in  most  cases, 
but  too  often  the  sneers  of  others  make  us  cowards. 
And  yet  one  who  had  "  all  power  in  heaven  and  on 
earth"  willingly  submitted  to  every  humiliation. 
And  it  is  only  by  suffering  with  Him  than  we  can 
hope  to  reign  with  Him. 

Something  to  this  effect  Morgan  replied  when 
Lorenzo  asked  : 

"  Do  you  intend  returning  at  once  to  Canada  ?" 

"  Yes ;  as  I  see  no  hope  at  present  of  using  the 
sword  for  the  cause  of  Holy  Church  I  shall  resume 
my  studies,  and  may,  if  found  wo^'thy,  become  a 
priest." 

"  You  are  happy,  Morgan,  in  having  a  future  be- 
fore you ;  I  have  none  now.  So  long  as  our  little 
army  had  a  mission  to  fulfill,  I  had  work  and  duty. 
But  now — " 

"  But  now,  what,  Lorenzo  ?  Surely  you  do  not 
mean  that  you  have  no  duty  left.  You  have  your 
place  in  life,  and  its  duties  are  many." 


400 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


"  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  fallen  out  of,  or  been 
forced  out  of,  my  place  in  life.  I  do  not  know  who 
I  am  ;  how  can  I  know  what  to  do  ?" 

"  That  is  not  Italian  logic,  Lorenzo  ;  you  may  not 
know  your  real  history,  but  there  are  many  paths 
of  life  which  you  may  tread  in  safety  and  honor." 

"  I  scarcely  meant  what  I  said.  I  have  one  duty : 
that  is  to  find  that  old  Jew  who  has  the  paper  left 
for  me  by  my  father.  That  done,  I  will  go  to 
France  and  oifer  my  sword  in  her  defense  against 
those  barbarian  Prussians." 

"  Remember  your  promise  to  me  on  the  night  bo- 
fore  the  bombardment;  come  out  to  Canada." 

" If  I  thought —    But  did  I  really  promise?" 

"  Surely  you  did ;  and  I  know  we  will  all  be  de- 
lighted to  see  you.  George  Marchbank  talks  of 
going  soon." 

"  Does  he?    Well,  I  will  go  ;  vedremo  lafineP 

This  conversation  between  Morgan  and  Lorenzo 
took  place  in  the  enclosure  of  Castel  San  Angelo 
two  days  after  the  taking  of  Rome.  The  remnant 
of  the  gallant  little  army  of  Pius  IX.,  which  had 
made  its  way  to  the  Castel  and  insisted  on  honorable 
terms  of  surrender,  was  drawn  up  in  order  of 
march. 

The  signal  was  given  ;  with  drums  beating,  colors 
flying,  and  arms  in  hand  they  filed  out,  saluted  by 
tlie  Piedmontese  soldiery.  No  fear  cowed  their 
dauntless  hearts ;  no  vain  swaggering  marked  their 
carriage.  They  were  soon  to  be  prisoners  of  war, 
yet  they  were  unconquered  soldiers. 

Slowly  they  wound  their  way  to  the  Piazza  of  St. 


DISBANDED. 


401 


Peter's.  With'-ut  the  gate  of  Cavalleggieri  they 
were  to  lay  down  their  arms  and  be  disbanded. 

The  noble  soal  of  Pius  IX.,  which  bled  more  at 
the  humiliation  of  his  devoted  troops  than  at  his  own 
misfortmies,  caused  him  to  appear  at  a  window  of 
his  palace,  and  to  bless  them  for  a  last  time.  So 
soon  as  he  was  perceived  a  frantic  cheer  broke  from 
the  ranks,  and  every  musket  was  discharged  in  his 
honor.  Overcome  with  emotion  the  Pope  with- 
drew, and  thus  parted  forever  Pius  IX.  and  his 
ai'my.    * 

Many  a  lieart  beat  high  with  the  hope  of  soon  re- 
turning to  his  service ;  and  many  a  lip  formed  a 
solemn  vow  to  be  ready  when  the  opportune  mo- 
ment should  have  arrived. 

To  be  disbanded  is,  to  enthusiastic  soldiers,  akin 
to  the  separation  of  lovers.  Sweet  and  bitter  are 
the  feelings  evoked  ;  gentle  and  fierce  the  thoughts 
engendered. 

Slowly  they  passed  beyond  the  walls  of  Rome ; 
sadly  they  resigned  their  glittering  rifles,  after 
having  kissed  them ;  wistfully  they  turned  to  gaze 
on  the  Eternal  City,  and  to  breathe  a  prayer  for  its 
deliverance. 

Then  they  were  prisoners,  and  disbanded. 

The  foreigners  were  to  be  sent  towards  Genoa, 
thence  to  proceed  to  their  various  homes.  The 
Italians  were  thus  soon  separated  from  their  late 
companions.  Lorenzo  had  barely  time  to  give  a 
hasty  "Addio"  to  Morgan,  and  to  send  a  message  of 
remembrance  to  Eleanor. 

Morgan  shed  a  tear  of  regret  as  he  marched  along 


\i   i 


■11 


402 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


the  dusty  road, — regret  for  Rome  and  the  sainted 
Pius  IX.  now  in  the  hands  of  a  hostile  power,  and 
regret  at  parting  thus  from  his  genial  friend.  His 
only  consolation  on  the  latter  point  was  tlie  hope 
that  Lorenzo  would  follow  him,  as  speedily  as  pos- 
sible, to  Canada. 

We  will  not  follow  Morgan  in  all  his  adventures 
and  delays.  Once  clear  of  the  Italian  frontier  he 
was  master  of  his  own  movements,  and  travelled 
quickly  on  to  Liverpool.  Thence,  in  company  with 
several  of  his  contrymen,  he  sailed  for  New  York. 

The  sad  news  of  Rome's  disaster  had  flown  across 
the  Atlantic,  and  filled  with  sorrow  the  hearts  of 
many.  The  Catholics  of  New  York  resolved  to 
greet  the  returning  Zouaves  with  every  demonstra- 
tion of  respect  and  admiration.  No  need  to  describe 
an  event  still  fresh  in  the  remembrance  of  all.  The 
sons  of  Canada  have  not  forgotten  it,  and  they  will 
tell  it  to  their  children. 

When  Morgan  was  walking  along  Broadway,  on 
the  morning  after  this  reception,  something  drew 
his  attention  to  two  men  who  were  sauntering  along 
directly  in  front  of  him.  The  younger  of  the  two 
was  dressed  in  the  extreme  of  fashion,  but  did  not 
look  either  genteel  or  inviting.  His  face  was  coarse 
and  flabby ;  dissipation  and  vice  had  stamped  their 
impress  in  unmistakable  characters  thereon.  His 
legs  were  shrunken  and  bowed ;  his  gait  rolling,  and 
his  carriage  half  swagger^  half  shuffle. 

Morgan  read  his  history  at  a  glance.  The  public 
schools,  dime  novels,  diabolical  publications  on  sex- 
ual subjects  advertised  through  the  press,  the  low 


DISBANDED. 


403 


theatre  and  the  brothel, — these  were  the  stepping- 
stones  by  which  that  unfortunate  young  man  had 
reached  his  present  degredation.  How  long  will 
the  same  infamous  causes  be  allowed  to  produce 
similar  effects? 

Turning  his  attention  to  the  elder,  Morgan  fan- 
cied he  recognized  something  familiar  in  his  angular 
form.  Hearing  his  voice  all  doubt  vanished.  The 
two  turned  to  look  after  a  carriage  which  drove 
past,  and  Morgan  stood  face  to  face  with  Mr.  Drew 
and — can  it  be  ? — yes.  Washy  I  Alas  poor  Washy  I 
who  is  most  to  blame  for  -'.y  vices  and  crimes, — a 
careless  parent,  a  vicious  school  system,  a  foul  press, 
hbertine  literature,  or  the  "  spirit  of  the  age"  ? 
Alas  poor  Washy  I  There  is  not  much  of  the  man 
left  in  thy  composition,  but  there  is  yet  plenty  of 
the  brute. 

Mr.  Drew  recognized  Morgan  and  was  evidently 
pleased  to  meet  him. 

"  Who  would  ever  think  of  meeting  you  in  Broad- 
way"? I  do  warm  to  an  old  friend  always.  Why, 
come  and  take  a  bit  of  dinner  at  our  house.  They 
will  all  be  glad  to  see  you.  So  Rome  has  bust  up, 
has  it,  and  you  were  all  given  yonr  walking-ticket  ? 
By  Jemiuny,  but  you  fought  well  though  in  '67. 
Read  all  about  it  in  the  Herald!  As  it  is  pretty 
near  as  often  right  as  wrong,  we  believe  it  always ; 
saves  reflection  you  see.     But  won't  you  come  ?" 

Thus  Mr.  Drew  in  the  first  effusion  of  his  joy. 

Morgan  smiled  at  his  naive  reason  for  always  be- 
lieving the  Herald^  and  thought  how  much  truth 
there  was  in  the  observation.   Accepting  Mr.  Drew's 


km 


i-1 


m 


404 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


proffered  hospitality,  they  mounted  an  omnibus  and 
chatted  about  Mr.  Drew's  adventures  in  Europe. 
Washy's  contribution  to  the  conversation  was  the 
remark  that  it  "  was  a  rum  start  to  have  gone  at 
all.'' 

Mrs.  Drew  received  her  husband  and  Morgan  in 
a  gaudily-upholstered  apartment.  She  did  not  rec- 
ognize Morgan  at  first.  On  being  told  who  he  was, 
she  expressed  the  pleasure  it  afforded  her  to  meet 
one  who  had  helped  the  family  against  "  them  for- 
eigners." 

"  I  always  did  say  to  Daniel  how  as  me  and  him 
was  foolish  to  take  the  girls  among  foreign  catch- 
pennies." Here  she  glared  covertly  at  the  Italian 
'Count,'  her  hopeful  son-in-law,  who  was  lazily 
reclining  on  a  crimson  lounge.  "  Mrs.  Hezekiah 
Flintwood,  the  president  of  our  Bible  Society,  says 
to  me  that  her  girls  will  never  go  a-towering 
through  Europe." 

"I  suspect,  ma,"  said  Miss  Drew,  "that  the 
reason  is  because  they  have  not  got  the  money. 
When  pa  made  his  pile  it  was  only  right  to  enjoy 
ourselves,  and  to  make  the  grand  tour." 

"  Yes,  and  be  snapped  up  by  any  good-for-nothing 
foreigner  as  has  got  curly  hair,  and  bows,  and  grins, 
— bows  and  grins,"  repeated  Mrs.  Drew  with  em- 
phasis as  the  Count  sardonically  smiled. 

"  Well,  I  am  sure,  ma,  all  the  foreigners  are  not 
like  that.  We  saw  a  perfect  love  of  a  soldier  in  the 
Coliseum,  and  he  had  such  strange  adventures,  and 
such  polite  ways." 

Here  Miss  Drew  sighed  as  she  recalled  Peppe's 


DISBANDED. 


406 


manly  form,  and  the  help  he  had  afforded  her  in 
mounting  the  ruins  of  the  Flavian  Amphitheatre. 

The  poor  *'  Countess"  said  never  a  word.  Her 
young  romance  was  over ;  her  hero  was  only  clay, 
and  base  at  that.  Her  sprightly  airs  were  subdued 
and  quiet ;  her  face  careworn  and  sad.  She  gave  a 
mute  appealing  look  to  Mr.  Drew,  who  seemed  to 
understand  her,  for  he  changed  the  conversation  by 
asking  Morgan  when  he  would  leave  New  York. 

"I  leave  to-night  for  Montreal,"  he  replied. 
"I  am  anxious  to  arrive  home  as  soon  as  possi- 
ble." 

After  partaking  of  Mr.  Drew's  hospitality  Morgan 
drove  to  the  railway  station.  As  he  went  along  he 
wondered  much  at  the  blindness  of  many  girls.  A 
quiet,  unassuming  man  is  slighted  and  a  brainless 
coxcomb  adored.  The  sacred  pleasures  of  a  cheer- 
ful fireside  have  no  charms  for  them ;  all  their 
aspirations  are  for  the  whirl  and  excitement  of  a 
fashionable  life.  They  hunger  for  love,  and  yet 
they  sell  themselves  for  money  or  position.  They 
dream  of  domestic  joys,  still  they  never  strive  to  fit 
themselves  for  conferring  them.  Blind  to  tht  dic- 
tates of  common-sense,  and  deaf  to  the  advice  of 
friends,  they  romantically  imagine  that  the  object 
of  their  ill-regulated  affections  is  perfect. 

And  a  sister  is  not  made  wiser  by  the  unhappi- 
ness  of  a  sister.  Miss  Drew  knows  the  fraud  of 
which  her  sister  has  been  the  victim,  still  she  would 
be  as  easily  deceived  to-morrow  as  if  the  "  Italian 
Count"  had  been  genuine.  She  feels  that  her  hero 
would  be  true.    Sensational  literature  has  bred  a 


ill 


!  '. 


406 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


mental  unrest,  and  destroyed  the  womanly  instincts 
of  many  besides  Miss  Drew. 

And  still,  God  be  thanked,  wonian'^  best  qnalities 
often  remain  untouched  in  the  root.  Morgan  felt 
sure  that  if  the  lazy  Italian  impostor  were  stricken 
with  a  dire  disease  his  poor  duped  wife,  forgetful  of 
lier  wrongs,  would  be  his  devoted  nurse. 

Such  reflections  as  these  occupied  Morgan's  mind 
for  a  length  of  time.  That  young  girls  would  strive 
to  overcome  the  romantic  tendency  of  their  nature, 
and  prize  the  quiet  joys  of  a  simple  home  was  his 
wish,  as  the  express  clattered  rapidly  on  towards 
fair  Cannda. 


CHAPTEK  XXYIII. 


THE     STOLEN     DOCUMENT. 


Once  again  the  genial  month  of  October  has  re- 
turned ;  the  rich  grapes  are  being  gathered  on  the 
banks  of  Lake  Albano,  and  the  chestnuts  fall  thickly 
in  the  woods  below  the  crazily  perched  town  of 
Rocca  di  Papa.  Little  children  with  large,  won- 
dering dark  eyes,  and  a  wealth  of  black  hair,  pickup 
the  nuts  in  osier-baskets,  or  sport  like  youthful 
dryads  in  the  checkered  light.  From  the  chestnut 
a  coarse  nutritious  meal  is  procured,  which  the  peas- 
antry either  use  alone  or  mix  with  wheaten  flour 
On  the  squares  of  every  town  and  city  roasted 
chestnuts  hold  the  place  of  the  American  pea-nut. 


THE  STOLEN   DOCUMENT. 


407 


jt  is  not  then  for  amusement  that  the  children  are 
at  work. 

A  month  has  passed  since  the  Pontifical  army 
was  disbanded  ;  a  month  has  passed  since  Pius  IX. 
became  a  prisoner  in  the  Vatican.  The  infidel 
world  has  had  its  shout  of  joy  ;  the  bigots  have 
uttered  their  frenzied  cry  that  "  Popery  has  fallen." 
They  have  yet  to  learn,  what  history  might  have 
taught  them,  that  the  Church  never  dies.  Pius  IX. 
may  die,  but  Peter  will  live  on;  he  has  lived  for 
eighteen  hundred  years,  and  he  will  live  until  time 
shall  be  no  more. 

The  ascent  through  the  grove  of  chestnut-  and  ilex- 
trees  to  Hocca  di  Papa  is  steep  and  winding.  This 
little  town  is  built  on  a  spur  of  Monte  Cavo,  and  is  a 
gem  of  inaccessibility,  inconvenience,  and  primeval 
irregularity.  Once,  however,  that  your  have  mas- 
tered the  difficulties  of  the  situation  and  scaled  its 
dizzy  heights,  you  can  enjoy  a  glorious  prospect. 
Monte  Cavo  looms  grimly  above  you,  perhaps  sul- 
kily veiling  its  head  with  a  cloud ;  Lake  Albano 
glints  peacfully  below,  apparently  so  near  that  you 
meditate  a  leap  into  its  inviting  waters.  The  green 
fringe  of  low  underwood  around  the  base  of  Monte 
Cavo  sparkles  in  the  setting  sun,  and  is  reflected  in 
the  tiny  wavelets  of  the  lake.  The  town  of  Albano 
is  seen  on  its  gentle  slope,  seemingly  desirous  of 
going  forth  to  meet  the  waters  of  the  Mediterranean. 
Patches  of  sun-lit  hill  are  interspersed  with  the 
shade  of  small  valleys,  mingled  like  the  grave  and 
gay  of  life;  they  extend  to  the  west  and  ^nd  with 
the  walls  of  Kome. 


408 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


Up  the  steep  ascent  two  men  were  ascending  on 
this  quiet  October  evening.  They  were  Lorenzo 
and  Peppe.  Like  their  fellow-countrymen  who  had 
belonged  to  the  Pope's  army,  they  had  refused  to 
take  service  under  the  invader.  Tiicy  were  now 
comparatively  free  in  their  movements.  The  rea- 
son of  their  present  excursion  may  be  learned  from 
their  conversation. 

"  Are  you  sure,  Peppe,  that  we  are  on  the  right 
track  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  were  as  sure  of  a  chance  of  fighting 
for  the  Pope.     I  saw  the  old  rascal  this  morning." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  in  your  mind  about  its  being 
the  one  we  want  ?" 

"  Why,  Signer  Lorenzo,"  said  Peppe,  evidently 
astonished,  "  can  you  ask  such  a  question  ?  Could 
I  be  deceived  in  old  Ezra?  Surely  now  there  is 
no  other  such  face  and  figure  in  all  Italy.  I  could 
pick  him  out  in  the  valley  of  Jehosaphat,  unless,  in- 
deed, the  impenitent  thief  or  Judas  might  be  mis- 
taken for  him." 

"  Is  he  so  ill-looking  ^s  that  ?"  asked  Lorenzo 
with  a  visible  shudder. 

"  Altro !"  was  Peppe V^  expressive  reply. 

"  What  could  my  father  possibly  want  with  such 
a  disreputable  character?  There  was  nothing  in 
common  between  them.  Had  my  father  been  poorer 
I  might  think  that  old  Ezra  had  loaned  him  money ; 
but  that  is  impossible.  What  could  he  have  wanted 
with  him  Peppe  ?" 

Peppe  scratched  his  head,  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  merely  replied : 


THE  STOLEN   DOCUMENT. 


409 


"Who  knows r 

Many  a  question  oqually  knotty  has  been  solved 
with  this  same  rejoinder,  and  many  more  might  bo 
with  advantage  to  mankind. 

"  But,  Peppe,  you  know  sometliing  about  my  early 
history,  and  about  my  mother.  If  loyalty  to  my 
father  kept  you  silent  during  his  lifetime,  duty  to  mo 
might  msiko  you  speak  now.  You  know  more  about 
me  than  1  know  myself." 

"  It  is  true  that  I  do,  Signor  Lorenzo ;  but  I  know 
scarcely  anything  about  your  mother." 

"  Tell  me  what  you  do  know,"  said  Lorenzo,  as  he 
stood  motionless  in  the  dusty  road. 

"  I  do  not  think  that  I  am  at  liberty  to  do  so. 
When  Giovanni  Aldini  bound  me  to  silence  you  were 
to  learn  all  through  him;  if  he  failed  to  inform  you, 
I  might  speak.  If  we  cannot  recover  the  stolen 
document  I  shall  tell  what  I  know,  but  it  is  not  all 
you  wish  to  learn." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,  Peppe,  and  since  I  have 
waited  so  long,  I  can  wait  longer.  After  all,  what 
does  it  matter  now  ?  It  is  better,  perhaps,  that  I 
should  not  find  the  lost  paper.  The  search  for  it 
will  be  an  employment  which  will  serve  to  distract 
my  mind.  Were  it  in  my  possession  what  object 
would  I  have  left  ?  Ah !  if  only  Eleanor" —  His 
voice  had  gradually  sunk  during  the  latter  part  of 
this  speech,  and  now  became  inaudible. 

Peppe  who  understood  pretty  well  the  nature  of 
Lorenzo's  feelings  regarding  Eleanor  Leahy,  and  be- 
ing persuaded  that  she  could  not  help  loving  him, 
wished  to  trge  him  on  to  a  renewal  of  his  suit,  but 
18 


410 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


did  not  dare  speak  openly.  He  took  another  course 
by  saying : 

"  Signor  Lorenzo,  we  had  better  wait  here  until 
sunset ;  old  Ezra  will  be  about  the  streets  until  that 
time.  If  you  wish  I  will  tell  you  how  my  uncle,  who 
was  a  man  of  considerable  importance,  got  his  wife, 
a  fine  lady.     It  will  help  to  pass  the  time." 

"  Very  good,  Peppe,  I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  My  uncle,"  began  Peppe,  "  was  a  dashing  young 
officer  forty  years  ago,  as  my  mother  often  told  me. 
He  had  good  looks,  high  hopes,  spirit,  but  no  money. 
All  the  girls  of  his  acquaintance  were  madly  in  love 
with  him,  for  somehow  they  manage  to  lose  their 
hearts  easily  to  one  who  does  not  seek  them,  or  care 
about  them,  whilst  they  pretend  to  dislike  the  man 
who  makes  love  to  them." 

"  How  can  that  be,  Peppe,  since  so  many  continu- 
ally marry  ?"  asked  Lorenzo,  with  an  amused  look. 

"  Oh !  it  is  only  at  first  that  they  pretend  to  dis- 
like their  wooers,  as  my  uncle's  case  will  show.  They 
do  this  to  enhance  their  value,  to  make  their  admi- 
rers more  eager  in  their  suit,  and  to  gratify  their 
vanity.  No  surer  way,  Signor  Lorenzo,  of  succeed- 
ing quickly  with  the  greater  number  of  girls  than 
to  be  careless  about  them.  Per  Bacco !  but  that 
makes  them  angry  and  resolved  to  win  you." 

"  Why,  Peppe,  you  talk  as  though  you  had  had 
a  vast  experience  of  female  character.  I  always 
thought  that  you  rarely  mingled  in  their  society. 

"  I  have  lived  some  years  and  I  have  kept  my  eyes 


opeuj 


that  is  how  I  know  all  this." 


"  Then  your  opinion,  Peppe,"  said  Iiorenzo,  with 


THE  STOLEN   DOCUMENT. 


411 


a  smile,  "  is  that  woman  will  come  to  you  if  you  do 
not  go  to  her." 

"Not  always,  Signor.  There  are  some  fine  na- 
tures which  must  be  won  by  persevering  endeavors, 
as  the  story  of  my  uncle's  courtship  will  make 
plain." 

"  Let  us  hear  that  wonderful  story  then." 

"  Well,  my  uncle,  as  I  said,  was  young  and  hand- 
some, but  impecunious.  He  first  met  his  future 
wife  in  a  stage-coach  and  fell  in  love  with  her  at 
once.  It  has  often  puzzled  me  to  understand  why 
or  how  this  sort  of  thing  happens  ;  but  it  does  hap- 
pen, it  does,"  said  Peppe,  shaking  his  head. 

"  It  does,  I  believe,"  answered  Lorenzo  as  a  warm 
tinge  colored  his  cheeks. 

"My  uncle  soon  obtained  an  introduction  to  his 
inamorata  and  quickly  made  proposals  of  marriage. 
They  were  not  accepted ;  still  every  one  thought 
tliat  Lucia  Benvenuti  loved  my  uncle  Rnggiero 
Spada.  She  was  not  a  coquette,  she  had  no  favored 
admirer,  still  she  refused.  My  uncle,  who  iliought 
that  her  answer  would  have  been  as  prompt  as  his 
offer,  if  she  had  really  loved  him,  was  disconsolate. 
He  lost  his  gayety  and  shunned  company.  He  faced 
death  on  the  field  of  battle,  but  death  fled  from 
him.  A  friend  who  knew  his  secret  advised  him 
to  persevere  in  his  suit,  to  prove  that  he  was  in 
earnest  and  that  his  affection  was  not  a  mere 
momentary  sentiment.  Lucia,  he  said,  was  of  a 
gentle  and  loyal  disposition,  and  sought  to  discover 
earnestness  in  her  lover. 

"  My  uucle  renewed  his  suit  and  followed  her  to 


412 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


Switzerland,  where  the  family  were  passing  the 
summer.  He  told  her  anew  his  passion,  and  de- 
clared that  if  she  did  not  consent  to  become  his  he 
would  rush  heedlessly  into  the  thickest  of  the  battle 
and  invite  death  to  put  an  end  to  his  torments." 

"What  did  Lucia  reply  to  this  Byronism?" 

"What  could  she  reply,  but  that  as  he  had  proved 
the  depth  and  earnestness  of  his  love  by  following 
her  so  far,  it  was  for  her  to  gladly  accept  it?  My 
uncle's  friend  was  right ;  it  only  required  perseve- 
rance to  win  the  prize.  My  uncle  always  said  that 
when  a  young  man  had  been  rejected  all  he  had  to 
do  was  to  carry  on  a  regular  siege  with  patience  and 
the  citadel  would  eventually  capitulate.  His  con- 
clusion is  my  own — viz.,  that  most  women  will  fly 
after  you  if  you  are  indifferent  to  their  attractions, 
and  a  few  can  only  be  won  by  perseverance." 

Whether  Peppe  was  right  or  wrong  in  this  con- 
clusion our  lady  readers  will  decide.  He  had  a 
double  object  in  lengthening  out  this  family  in- 
cident :  the  one  was  to  induce  his  master  to  follow 
Eleanor  to  Canada,  and  the  other  to  amuse  Lorenzo 
until  it  should  be  time  to  visit  old  Ezra. 

They  now  arose  and  walked  quickly  up  the  rocky 
slope.  Lorenzo  was  to  await  the  return  of  Peppe  at 
a  neighboring  Trattoria. 

"Be  sure  you  procure  the  document  at  any 
price,"  was  his  last  injunction  to  his  faithful  ser- 
vant. 

"Per  Bacco!  if  I  don't  get  it  for  nothing  I'm  a 
Turk,"  was  Peppe's  reply. 

Lightly  springing  up  a  fljght  of  steps  cut  out  of 


The  stolen  document. 


413 


» 


the  tiiffa  rock,  which  led  to  a  narrow  street  parallel 
to  the  one  on  which  he  left  his  master,  Peppe  sped 
on  his  way.  The  crazy  old  houses  appeared  to  grow 
out  of  the  hill-side  in  a  horizontal  line.  The  door 
opens  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  or  midway  down 
a  flight  of  treacherous  steps.  A  stranger  would  be 
puzzled  to  know  how  children  ever  reached  the  age 
of  maturity  with  so  many  pitfalls  around.  Their 
toes  must  be,  one  is  half  inclined  to  believe,  en- 
dowed with  an  apparatus  similar  to  that  which  en- 
ables flies  to  walk  up  a  wall. 

Peppe  ascended  almost  three  hundred  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  lower  street,  and  came  to  an  un- 
shapen  mass  of  volcanic  rock  which  stands  at  the 
upper  extremity  of  the  town.  At  its  base  a  door 
stood  open  and  Peppe  unceremoniously  entered.  It 
was  a  small,  dingy  apartment,  musty  and  cold.  It 
had  been  cut  out  of  the  rock  for  a  wine-vault  by  a 
man  possessed  of  more  money  than  brains.  No 
doubt  it  would  be  a  safe  and  cool  place  in  which  to 
store  wine,  but  how  could  a  cask  ever  be  brought 
thither  from  the  vinevards  below  ?  The  idea  of  the 
vault  was  defective  on  one  side,  as  ideas  often  are ; 
hence  the  collapse  of  the  scheme.  However,  the 
excavation  was  not  altogether  useless ;  it  was  rented 
as  a  dwelling. 

Peppe  looked  around  this  hovel,  and  at  first  saw 
nothing  but  lieaps  of  old  rags  and  fragments  of 
paper.  Then,  as  he  peered  about,  he  discovered  an 
old  man  sitting  by  a  rickety  table.  Dirty,  shrivelled, 
yellow,  and  greasy  as  of  yore  sat  old  Ezra.  His 
puckered  mouth  and  closed  eyes  showed  that  he  had 


414 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


fallen  asleep  over  his  work.  On  the  table  were 
piles  of  rags  and  bundles  of  paper.  Casting  his  eye 
over  these  latter  Peppe  recognized  on  the  outside  of 
one  the  handwriting  of  Giovanni  Aldini.  Instinc- 
tively he  picked  it  up  and  saw  that  it  was  the  stolen 
document.  Old  Ezra  always  carried  it  with  him, 
and  probably  had  been  assorting  the  contents  of  a 
shrunken  valise  which  lay  near  by  when  he  had  been 
overpowered  by  sleep. 

"  You  old  vulture,"  said  Peppe,  shaking  his  fin- 
ger at  him,  "  I  have  brought  you  down  at  last.  I 
might  go  away  now  and  you  be  none  the  wiser, 
but  that  would  not  do;  I'll  wake  you.  IIo!  Sor 
Ezra,  wake  up.  Can  I  sell  you  some  nice  lettuce 
for  supper  ?" 

With  a  frightened  spring  the  old  Jew  bounded  to 
his  feet,  and  glaring  at  Peppe,  squeaked, 

"  "Who  the  devil  are  you,  and  how  did  you  en- 
ter ?'» 

"  By  the  door,  Sor  Ezra ;  but  are  you  all  alone 
liere  ?" 

"  What  business  is  it  of  yours ;  go  away  thief." 

"  I  must  be  an  honest  thief  to  wake  you  up.  But 
come,  don't  you  remember  me  ?  You  told  me  about 
a  paper  written  by  Giovanni  Aldini  which  you  had. 
I  want  it." 

"  How  much  will  you  give  for  it  ?" 

"  Whatever  you  honestly  ask  ?" 

"  Good !  good  I  Where's  the  money  ?  A  thousand 
Bcudi ;  only  a  thousand  scudi,"  and  the  old  wretch 
clawed  the  papers  with  his  hideous  fingers. 

"  But  a  million  devils  I  where  is  it  ?    It  is  gone, 


I 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


416 


gone ;  you  stole  it,  thief ;  I'll  have  your  life  or  it. " 
And  Ezra  made  a  clutch  at  the  smiling  Peppe. 

Stepping  to  the  door  Peppe  displayed  the  paper 
and  said : 

"  Wretch  !  I  could  hang  you  for  what  you  did  ; 
but  I  am  satisfied  to  have  got  what  I  wanted.  Pare 
to  follow  me  and  I  will  hand  you  over  to  the  police. 
Now  good-by." 

The  miser  sank  back  on  his  chair  as  Peppe  gayly 
tripped  back  to  find  Lorenzo.  The  excitement  of 
the  latter  on  seeing  the  document  was  intense. 
Wildly  he  tore  it  open  and  read,  trembling  the 
while.  Peppe  watched  him  with  evident  alarm,  and 
caught  him  as  he  sank  moaning, 

"  Oh  1  my  mother ;  my  poor  desolate  mother  1" 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


AFTER   WEAKY   YEARS. 


Many  days  had  come  and  gone  since  Mrs. 
Barton  commenced  to  keep  her  sad  anniversary. 
Sands  innumerable  had  trickled  noiselessly  from 
Time's  hour-glass  ;  golden  sands  for  some,  but  grimy 
ones,  alas,  for  very  many.  Noble  resolutions  by 
the  thousand  had  been  taken,  and  few  but  had  been 
broken.  Careers  of  usefulness  and  honor  had  been 
begun,  high  hopes  had  been  aroused,  but  often  the 
social  glass  had  led  to  intoxication  and  to  a  dishonored 
end.    Tears  of  youthful  a£&iction  for  the  loss  of 


416 


AFtER  tVEARY  f  EARS. 


a  mother  had  been  shed  in  what  appeared  an  agony 
of  undying  grief,  but  they  liad  quickly  been  dried 
and  the  sorrow  forgoLLen.  Tales  of  love  had  been 
told ;  wild  vows  of  constancy  had  been  registered  in 
the  shifting  sands  of  life ;  but  t4ie  tales  had  long 
been  an  idle  breath,  and  the  vows  a  voiceless  echo 
from  a  viewless  shore. 

These  changes  had  been  effected,  but  there  was 
one  affection  at  least  which  had  remained  unaltered 
during  .11  v  ■    .;e  dreary  years. 

It  was  Mrs.  Barton's  love  for  her  lost  son. 

Tho  yof  blo'  i  of  youth  had  faded  from  her 
cheek ;  the  lovely  light  of  her  dreamy  eyes  had 
been  dimmed  ;  white  streaks  had  checkered  her  erst 
brown  hair  ;  the  thousand  nameless  charms  of  voice, 
motion,  and  expression  of  life's  springtime  had 
flown,  but  still  her  love  as  a  mother  lived  on,  and 
her  calm  hope  of  meeting  her  boy  on  earth  survived. 

In  all  this  world  of  inconstancy  and  change  a 
mother's  deep  and  tender  love  is  the  only  purely 
human  affection  which  is  almost  immutable.  It 
cannot  decrease,  because  lier  quality  of  motherhood 
ever  remains ;  it  can  scarcely  grow  greater,  for  it 
was  always  immense. 

Mrs.  Barton  had  kept  her  last  sad  anniversary  as 
usual :  the  faded  kite,  the  little  ball  and  bat  had 
been  laid  down  just  without  the  door,  and  she  had 
sat  within,  holding  the  little  blue  cloth  cap  with  a 
glazed  peak.  Eleanor  had  come  to  pay  her  a  visit, 
and  they  both  sat  there  about  the  very  hour  that 
Lorenzo  received  the  document  from  Peppe. 

It  was  a  still,  mild  night ;  the  mighty  St.  Lawrence 


After  weary  years* 


417 


peacefully  murmured  as  it  flowed  beneatli  the 
garden  wall.  The  rich  tinge  of  autumn  was  on 
every  leaf,  though  all  seemed  a  mellowed  white  in 
the  soft  moonbeams.  The  graceful  spire  of  the 
neighboring  church  cast  the  shadow  of  its  cross  ovel* 
Mrs.  Barton  as  she  sat  within  the  door ;  but  by  de= 
grees,  as  the  moon  rose  higher,  it  receded  and  left 
her  bathed  in  light. 

Eleanor  noticed  this,  and  thought  it  att  expressive 
image  of  the  supernatural  light  of  glory  which  shall 
fill  the  soul  that  has  faithfully  borne  its  cross. 

Mrs.  Barton  who  had  been  silent  for  some  time 
said, 

"I  am  thinking  much  to-night,  Eleanor,  of 
Lorenzo  Aldini.  I  do  hope  he  will  return  with 
Morgan.  Somehow  my  soul  yearns  to-night  to  see 
him." 

'  Poor  Eleanor  could  have  truthfully  said  as  much 
any  night  during  the  past  six  months ;  however,  she 
only  softly  sighed.  Not  so  softly,  however,  but 
that   Mrs.  Barton    heard   or  rather  felt  it  in  the 


an*. 


"  Eleanor,  my  dear  girl,  my  selfish  love  has  caused 
you  much  pain.  Had  I  not  extracted  that  promise 
from  you,  you  would  have  been  happy  in  the  love 
of  your  brother's  noble  friend.  Can  you  forgive 
me  ?" 

"  Forgive  you  ?  It  was  no  fault  of  yours.  Pray 
do  not  speak  any  more  about  it." 

Mrs.  Barton  knew  it  was  a  painful  topic  to 
Eleanor,  so  she  asked  : 

"  When  do  you  expect  Morgan  ?"      , 
18* 


w 


418 


AFTER   WEARY   YEARS. 


"In  two  days;  we  had  a  telegram  from  New 
York.    He  is  quite  well  in  health." 

"  Is  he  all  alone  ?" 

"  I  suppose  so,  for  he  makes  no  mention  of  any 
one  else." 

"Oh,  how  I  wish  his  friend  were  with  him. 
How  I  long  to-night  to  see  you  his  wife,  for  I  know 
it  would  ensure  happiness  to  you  both." 


This  conversation  had  taken  place  late  in  October, 
it  was  now  past  the  middle  of  November.  The 
ground  was  hard  and  bare  ;  a  crisp  frost  covered  the 
withered  grass,  and  delicately  adorned  witli  a  featli. 
ery  fringe  the  leafless  boughs.  The  face  of  the 
great  river  was  dark  and  scowling;  its  peaceful 
murmur  of  a  month  ago  was  exchanged  for  a  hoarse 
and  fretful  roar.  The  last  ships  of  the  season  were 
liurryingdown  its  course,  fearful  of  being  caught  in 
the  icy  fetters  of  winter.  A  spirit  of  unrest  was  in 
the  air  and  a  gloom  was  over  the  land.  Wild  mas- 
ses of  clouds  would  hurtle  through  the  sky,  and 
quickly  disappearing  would  be  succeeded  by  evanes- 
cent beams  of  sunshine.  Snow,  rain,  hard  frost,  or 
a  warm  sunlight,  each  was  liable  to  ensue  within  an 
hour,  and  to  last  a  day  or  ten  minutes.  An  at- 
mospheric crisis  was  at  hand,  and  its  result  uncer- 
tain.     • 

The  short  day  was  drawing  to  a  close  as  Eleanor 
Leahy  and  George  Marchbank  walked  slowly  along 
the  course  of  the  darkening  river.  The  young 
artist  was  not  now  unknown  to  fame.    At  the  ex- 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


419 


hibition  of  fine  arts  held  at  Rome  during  the  sitting 
of  the  Vatican  Council,  his  works  had  attracted  the 
favorable  notice  of  persons  whose  taste  was  unques- 
tioned. He  was  pronounced  a  "  rising  man ;"  and 
to  be  thus  designated  by  leading  artistic  critics,  is  to 
be  placed  at  only  one  remove  from  a  risen  one. 
His  sketch  of  the  opening  of  the  Council  was  justly 
admired.  It  would  take  time,  perhaps  years  to 
complete  it ;  but  the  scene  had  been  so  vividly  im- 
pressed on  his  mind,  for,  as  already  seen,  he  had 
viewed  it  in  the  light  of  Faith  which  had  flashed 
over  his  soul,  that  he  could  reproduce  it  in  its  every 
detail.  He  was  thus  on  the  road  to  fame ;  still  he 
was  not  happy. 

In  the  unceasing  unrest  of  our  soul,  in  its  yearn- 
ings after  some  unattained  happiness,  we  can  see, 
unless  we  be  self-blinded,  that  we  have  been  formed 
for  a  higher  destiny  than  this  world  can  afford. 
All  the  wealth,  fame,  and  glory  of  this  earth  cannot 
satisfy  our  longings ;  our  capacity  for  enjoyment 
may,  indeed,  be  sated  in  some  respects,  yet  it  is  of 
indefinite  power  that  nothing  which  we  can  im- 
agine in  life  can  ever  fill  it.  The  immortal  spirit 
refuses  to  be  satisfied  with  mortal  pleasures ;  it  in- 
dignantly asserts  its  nobility  of  origin  and  end  even 
in  its  degradation.  It  ever  proclaims  the  truth  of 
(St.  Augustine's  words :  "  Thou  hast  made  us  for 
Thyself,  O  Lord,  and  our  hearts  are  unquiet  until 
they  rest  in  Thee." 

George  Marchbank  had  returned  to  his  Canadian 
home  for  a  short  time.  He  half  hoped  that  Eleanor 
would  now  accept  his  love,  and  fill  the  blank  which 


420 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


he  experienced  in  his  life.  But  whatever  hopes  he 
had  cherished  on  this  head  were  destroyed  on  this 
chill  November  evening. 

W  ith  the  delicacy  and  earnest  gentleness  ofher 
noble  nature  Eleanor  had  spoken  to  him,  and  poured, 
a  balm  on  his  wounds  even  as  she  was  inflicting 
them.  He  felt  it  could  not  be  as  he  liad  wished, 
and  although  he  suffered  keenly,  there  was  no  rank- 
ling sting  left  behind.  Eleanor's  gentle  hand  had 
plucked  it  out,  and  her  true  womanly  sympathy  had 
assuaged  half  of  his  pain.  Her  words  of  encourage- 
ment, to  pursue  manfully  a  career  of  usefulness  and 
honor,  had  strengthened  his  purpose,  and  left  his 
future  less  dark  than  he  had  thought  it  could  be. 
Hearts  are  made  of  such  elastic  material  that  they 
seldom,  or  never,  break. 

The  setting  sun  emerged  from  an  angry  cloud  ; 
a  flood  of  ruby  light  bathed  its  frowning  folds  and 
beautifled  its  jagged  outlines. 

A  cold  breeze  swept  over  the  face  of  the  river, 
and  sadly  moaned  as  it  died  away  amidst  the  leafless 
boughs  of  a  neighboring  grove. 

The  shrill  whistle  of  an  engine  was  borne  on  the 
frosty  air,  and  brought  a  strange  joy  to  Eleanor's 
heart. 

In  the  short  twilight,  George  Marchbank  and 
Eleanor  reached  the  home  of  the  latter,  and  parted 
as  friends  ere  they  had  arrived  at  the  door.  He 
Went  to  his  native  village,  and  she  entered  her 
home.  Morgan  was  there  and  appeared  excited 
over  something.  In  reply  to  his  sister's  inquiries 
he  informed  her  that  Lorenzo  Aldini  was  on  his 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


421 


way  to  Canada;  was  in   Canada  even  now,  and 
would  be  at  the  station  in  five  minutes. 

"  I  must  now  go  to  meet  him ;  I  only  received 
his  letter  an  hour  ago.  We  will  be  here  in  twenty 
minutes." 

Saying  this  Morgan  leaped  into  a  carriage  and 
drove  rapidly  away. 

A  thousand  wild  emotions  filled  the  soul  of 
Eleanor,  but  joy  ever  took  the  lead.  It  is  true  that 
fear  lest  Lorenzo  should  not  renew  his  suit  occa- 
sionally started  up,  but  the  fact  of  his  coming  surely 
proved  the  groundlessness  of  its  nature.  No  need 
to  question  her  own  heart ;  it  told  its  tale  in  its 
quickened  pulsations,  and  by  the  warm  glow  which 
it  diffused  over  her  countenance.  Endeavoring  to 
compose  her  feelings  she  waited  with  strained 
anxiety  her  brother's  return.  He  was  not  back  so 
speedily  as  he  had  promised  ;  but  he  came  at  length 
and  Lorenzo  was  with  him. 

When  Lorenzo  and  Eleanor  met,  each  saw  in  the 
first  swift  glance  the  other's  love,  and  knew  better 
than  words  can  tell  the  depths  of  their  mutual 
affection.  Ere  an  hour  had  passed  they  had  plighted 
their  troth,  with  the  full  approbation  of  Mrs.  Leahy 
and  Morgan. 

Eleanor  who  was  ever  mindful  of  Mrs.  Barton, 
did  not  forget  her  in  the  dawn  of  her  new-born 
happiness.  She  proposed  that  they  should  go  and 
see  her  at  once.  Lorenzo  and  Morgan  consented 
with  evident  alacrity,  and  jn  a  few  minutes  they 
were  in  her  quiet  home.  The  state  of  affairs  was  soon 
made  known  and  she  warmly  congratulated  them. 


422 


AFTER  WEARY  TEARS. 


"You  will  have,  Lorenzo,  the  best  wife  that 
Canada  can  give,  and  although  I  over  fondly  hoped 
that  she  might  one  day  be  my  daughter,  I  am  truly 
glad  to-night.  I  have  not  ruined  her  hopes  ot 
happiness  after  all." 

"  We  will  love  you  as  dearly  as  if  we  were  your 
children,"  said  Lorenzo  with  deep  feeling. 

"Mrs.  Barton,"  began  Morgan,  "did  you  ever 
see  any  resemblance  in  Lorenzo  to  any  one  you  ever 
knew?  Did  you  ever  observe  him  attentively? 
Look  into  his  eyes  now  and  tell  me  what  you 
think." 

"  In  the  full  light  Mrs.  Barton  gazed  intently 
at  Lorenze,  and  an  unaccustomed  tremor  shook  her 
every  limb.  In  the  trusting,  loving  look  of  his 
dreamy  eyes  she  saw  the  image  of  a  fair  child  lost 
long  ago,  and  in  the  swelling  of  her  maternal  heart 
she  knew  that  he  was  fou  .d.  No  need  for  Lorenzo 
to  clasp  her  in  his  strong  arras  and  to  murmur, 

"Mother,  dearest   mother,  I  am  your  long-lost 


» 


son. 

She  knew  it  ere  the  words  were  spoken,  and  as 
she  strained  him  to  her  heart  she  sobbed, 

"  O  God,  I  thank  Thee,  that  After  Weary  Years 
of  lonely  waiting  and  hoping  Thou  hast  heard  my 
prayer." 

Morgan  who  had  learned  the  truth  from  Lorenzo 
on  their  way  from  the  station,  took  Eleanor  aside 
and  calmed  her  excitement,  as  mother  and  son  wept 
sweet  tears  of  joy. 

Mrs.  Barton,  however,  soon  subdued  her  feelings, 
and  calling  Eleanor  to  her  side^  laid  a  hand  on  her 


AFTER  WEARY   YEARS. 


423 


liead  and  tlie  other  on  that  of  lier  son,  and  invoked 
God's  blessing  on  their  betrotlial. 

It  was  a  solemn  moment,  a  moment  of  happiness 
for  all. 

When  they  had  recovered  in  some  degree  their 
composure,  Mrs.  Barton  asked  : 

"  How  long  is  it  since  you  knew  who  was  your 
mother,  my  dear  boy  ?" 

"  Since  the  last  anniversary  of  my  disappearance. 
For  a  long  time  I  knew  my  mother  was  alive,  but 
who  she  was  or  where  she  might  be,  I  never  knew 
until  that  night.  Oh  I  how  my  hc;\rt  went  out  to 
you  at  that  moment,  for  I  knew  that  you  were  keep- 
ing your  sad  watch." 

"  Ah !  that  is  perhaps  why  I  told  Eleanor  that  I 
was  thinking  much  of  you  that  night.  But  how 
did  you  learn  it  then  ?" 

"  From  a  document  which  my — Giovanni  Aldini 
left  for  me  when  he  died,  but  which  I  did  not  get 
until  then.  It  was  written  shortly  before  his  death; 
it  is  a  full  confession.     Shall  I  read  it?" 

"  By  all  means,  my  darling  boy." 

Lorenzo  then  began 

THE  CONFESSION   OF   GIOVANNI    ALDINI. 


"  *  All !  Lorenzo  how  can  I  write  what  I  must  say  ? 
How  can  I  lay  bare  to  you  my  heart,  and  tell  you 
the  great  wrong  that  has  been  inflicted  on  you  by 
me  ?  It  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  be  cursed  by  those 
we  passionately  love ;  it  is  intensest  anguish  to 
think  that  we  will  be  an  object  of  loathing  to  those 


424 


At'TER  WEARY  YEARS. 


whose  slightest  look  is  treasured  in  our  soul.  And 
yet  what  can  I  expect  excepting  loathing  and  per- 
haps bitter  imprecations  ?  What  else  do  I  deserve 
although  I  lavished  untold  affection  on  you  for 
years?  But  mine  was  a  diseased  love,  an  insane 
sentiment  wliich  devoured  my  life-fibres  and  gnawed 
unceasingly  my  troubled  brain.  My  sin  brought  its 
avenging  spirit ;  punishment  trod  ever  on  the  heels 
of  my  crime,  and  still  I  clung  to  you,  foreseeing 
your  malediction.  O  my  God  !  if  my  sin  has  been 
great,  great  too  has  been  my  punishment. 

" '  But,  Lorenzo,  you  will  not  be  hard  on  me ;  you 
will  not  curse  me.  My  worn  body  shall  be  moul- 
dering in  its  cold  sepulchre  when  you  read  this,  and 
the  awful  veil  which  liides  the  supernatural  world 
from  mortal  gaze  shall  have  fallen  between  us,  and 
will,  I  hope,  conceal  my  deformity  from  your  eyes. 
You  will  only  remember  the  poor  acts  of  kindness 
which  I  have  done,  and  your  promise  to  hold  my 
memory  in  benediction. 

"  '  Lorenzo,  I  am  not  your  father,  nor  can  I  claim 
any  kinship  to  you,  except  that  of  our  common 
humanity.  Neither  were  you  an  orphan  adopted 
by  me,  nor  the  disown  3d  child  of  criminal  parents. 
You  are  the  son  of  'irtuous  couple ;  you  were  the 
object  of  a  tende  nother's  fondest  love,  and  the 
proud  hope  of  a  noble  father,  ere  you  unfortunately 
attracted  my  attention.  You  are  not  an  Italian ; 
your  home  was  on  the  banks  of  Canada's  mighty 
river,  near  to  that  of  your  friend  Morgan  Leahy. 

" '  I  was  married  in  my  youth,  Lorenzo,  to  a  lovely 
girl,  such  as  still  adorn  the  virtuous  homes  of  Italy. 


At'TEU  WEAKir   YEARS. 


425 


Our  happiness  was  great,  but  of  short  duration. 
Scarce  three  years  of  wedded  life,  and  I  was  left  a 
widower.  A  little  boy  of  eighteen  months  remained 
to  distract  my  sad  thoughts  and  to  give  me  some- 
thing for  wliich  to  face  my  blank  future.  But 
within  two  years  he  followed  his  mother,  and  I  was 
indeed  desolate. 

"'My  great  grief  undermined  my  health  and 
weakened  my  intellect.  In  the  death  of  my  darling 
boy  I  lost  anew  my  wife,  and  bore  a  double  load  of 
eorrow.  I  was  ill  for  months,  and  rose  a  broken- 
down  man,  an  old  man  in  my  youth. 

"'I  travelled  abroad;  spent  some  months  in 
France,  then  crossed  over  to  England  and  remained 
nearly  a  year.  Peppe  was  with  me  ;  he  was  only  a 
lad  then,  but  he  was  very  active  and  useful.  Do 
not  blame  him,  Lorenzo;  he  never  injured  you;  he 
did  not  know  all. 

'• '  We  went  to  Canada.  Aimlessly  wandering 
through  the  country  along  the  course  of  the  St. 
Laurence,  we  came  to  your  father's  house.  AVe 
were  kindly  entertained  for  the  night.  You  were 
then  a  laughing  boy,  with  eyes  and  forehead  like 
my  lost  darling ;  you  were  nearly  the  age  he  would 
have  been.  Can  you  wonder  that  I  loved  you  ? 
Can  you  not  pity  my  weakness  when  I  resolved  to 
obtain  you  ?  My  mind  was  diseased  ;  I  do  not  seek 
to  palliate  my  actions,  but  in  mercy  remember  what 
I  had  suffered,  and  its  effect  on  my  imagination.  1 
had  neither  wife  nor  child  ;  your  parents  remained 
to  each  other  even  were  you  taken.  Thus  I  reasoned 
with  myself,  shut  my  eyes  to  the  wrong  which  I 


436 


AFTER  WEART  YEARS. 


would  do,  and  steeled  my  heart  against  the  thought 
of  your  parents'  grief.     It  has  bled  full  often  since. 

'- '  I  employed  an  old  Jew,  named  Ezra,  to  decoy 
you  from  your  home  and  to  bring  you  to  me  at 
Montreal  on  the  eve  of  mj'  departure.  I  have  heard 
that  you  were  playing  before  the  door  of  your 
father's  house,  when  he  beclconed  to  you  .id  en- 
ticed you  to  a  carriage  in  waiting.  Peppe  was  told 
that  your  parents  had  given  you  to  be  adopted  by 
me,  and  was  cautioned  to  never  undeceive  you  re- 
garding your  birth.  You  grew  up  as  my  son,  and 
warped  though  my  judgment  was,  God  knows  I 
tried  to  be  a  good  father  to  you.  I  had  been  trained 
to  virtue,  and  my  first  great  crime  was  your  abduc- 
tion. 

" '  In  memory  of  Canada's  great  river  I  named 
you  Lorenzo.  In  your  pocket  I  found  the  photo- 
graph whicli  I  gave  you  when  you  were  setting  out 
for  Home ;  I  had  seen  the  original ;  she  was  the 
daughter  of  your  father's  nearest  neighbor. 

" '  After  you  joined  the  Zouaves,  I  visited,  un- 
known to  you,  Canada,  and  spoke  with  your  mother 
to  let  her  know  that  her  son  lived.  I  never  fully 
realized  what  her  anguish  must  have  been  until 
you  had  left  me.  So  true  it  is  that  we  are  too 
often  selfishly  blind  to  the  sufferings  of  others. 

"'Your  true  name,  Lorenzo,  is  Denis  Barton. 

" '  O  God,  I  bring  this  sad  confession  to  an  end 
with  a  cry  to  Tlioe  for  pardon  and  mercy  I  Deign 
to  accept,  as  some  atonement,  the  racking  torments 
of  more  than  twenty  years  of  an  unquiet  con- 
science. -• 


EIGHT  YEARS  LATER. 


427 


"  *  Lorenzo,  my  loved,  my  cherished  Lorenzo,  pity 
a  frail  wretch  whose  disordered  love  for  you  was 
the  root  of  all  his  wrong-doing.  Forgive  and  bless, 
if  you  can,  the  memory  of 

" '  Giovanni  Aldini.' 

"  May  he  rest  in  peace !"  said  Lorenzo,  as  he 
finished  reading  the  above. 

"  Amen  !"  solemnly  responded  Mrs.  Barton. 

"Is  it  not  strange,"  began  Morgan,  "that  he 
should  have  endured  the  sting  of  conscience  so 
long  and  so  bitterly,  when  \i3  could  so  easily  have 
plucked  it  out  ?" 

"No  more  strange  than  that  a  Christian  soul 
should  live  one  hour  in  mortal  sin  when  it  can  so 
readily  obtain  pardon  through  a  good  confession," 
answered  Mrs.  Barton. 

She  was  right.  How  many  lead  unhappy  lives 
for  years,  goaded  by  remorse,  and  wilfully  cling  to 
that  which  causes  it!  How  many  sell  their  heirship 
to  the  kingdom  of  God  for  that  which  embitters 
their  existence ! 

Ye  foolish,  at  length  understand,  "  Wliat  doth  it 
profit  a  man,  if  he  gain  the  whole  world,  and  lose 
his  own  soul  ?" 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


eight    years    later. 

Stealthily  as  ever  Time  advances ;  remorselessly 
as  ever  the  ghastly  scythe  of  death  cuts  down  its 


428 


After  weary  years* 


victims.  The  noiseless  chariot  rolls  onward ;  the 
world  grows  hoary ;  the  death-king  renews  his 
youth.  Drop  by  drop  the  stream  of  Humanity  is 
falling  into  the  ocean  of  Eternity.  The  follies, 
crimes,  and  vices  of  men  are  repeated  ;  the  virtues, 
deeds  of  heroism  and  charity  of  the  first  Christians 
are  practised  in  our  day.  Good  and  evil  still  fight 
on,  but  the  tactics  of  the  latter  have  cluanged. 
Gross  vice  is  no  longer  pitted  against  virtue;  a 
specious  sentimentalism  attacks  religious  observ- 
ances ;  and  a  blatant  travesty  of  science  wages  war 
against  Faith.  Surely  a  portion  of  humanity  must 
be  in  its  dotage  when  such  scientific  frauds  as 
Spencer,  Darwin,  Huxley,  and  others  of  that 
feather  are  looked  upon  as  teachers,  and  quoted  as 
authorities. 

The  yellow  Tiber  still  winds  its  devious  way 
through  the  Roman  Campagna;  the  grapes  still 
ripen  on  the  banks  of  Albano's  peaceful  lake.  Tlie 
song  of  the  vine-dresser  is  yet  heard  on  the  sur- 
rounding hills,  and  Rocca  di  Papa  still  sits  on  its 
craggy  perch.  The  dead  of  the  cholera  in  Albano 
repose  undisturbed  around  the  remains  of  their 
heroic  Cardinal-Bishop ;  the  dread,  the  fear,  the 
suffering  of  that  time,  are  forgotten ;  the  memory 
of  Cardinal  Altieri  is  still  green. 

The  grand  figure  of  Pius  IX.  has  disappeared 
from  this  earthly  stage,  but  his  successor  sits  in  the 
Chair  of  St.  Peter  and  rules  the  Church  from  the 
Vatican.  Seven  weary  years  of  imprisonment 
crowned  the  glorious  career  of  Pius  the  Great ;  his 
spirit  was  uncrushed,  his  courage  undaunted.     One 


EIGHT  YEAR8  LATER. 


429 


the 


by  one  his  enemies  fell  beneath  the  icy  breath  of 
death ;  those  who  had  planned  and  schemed  against 
him  went  to  their  last  account  before  their  heroic 
victim.  He  was  not  spared  to  see  the  day  of  the 
restoration  of  his  temporal  power,  but  he  lived 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  its  dawn.  The  Nemesis 
which  was  born  on  the  day  of  the  bombardment  of 
Rome  had  attained  its  maturity  ere  the  great  Pope 
died.  It  broods  over  Europe  ;  kings  quake  on  their 
thrones,  and  are  targets  for  the  assassin's  bullet. 
Distrust  hastens  the  equipment  of  troops;  huge 
guns  are  prepared  with  nervous  trepidation ;  large 
armies  are  marshalled  for  war.  When  the  general 
clash  of  arms  shall  arise  in  commingled  battle,  the 
fall  of  Home  will  be  avenged,  and  its  restoration 
to  the  Pope  effected.  The  sun  of  that  great  day 
has  risen ;  ye  gallant  crusaders  be  prepared. 

Majestically  runs  the  mighty  St.  Lawrence,  and 
bears,  each  year,  a  richer  freight  down  to  the  ocean. 
The  young  Dominion  has  entered  in  earnest  on 
the  path  of  national  greatness.  Seven  provinces 
are  linked  into  a  vast  whole ;  each  brings  a  tribu- 
tary offering  to  the  Commonwealth,  but  still  retains 
a  local  autonomy.  Short  as  is  our  national  history, 
it  has  an  unworthy  page  or  two.  The  thoughtless 
action  in  connection  with  the  Red  River  difficulty 
was,  we  are  willing  to  believe,  an  error  of  judg- 
ment; but  the  heartless  ostracism  of  men,  who 
banded  together  to  defend,  as  they  thought,  their 
rights  against  an  invader,  is  without  excuse.  Riel 
will  one  day  hold  his  place  in  the  history  of  Canada 
as  a  brave  patriot  who  mistook,  it  is  true,  the  inten- 


430 


AFTER  WEARY   TEARS. 


tion  of  the  Ottawa  Government,  and  the  death  of 
the  unfortunate  Scott  will  cease  to  be  called  a 
murder.* 

There  are  blots  liere  and  there,  but  the  good 
sense  of  the  people  shall  jet  prevail,  and  tluey  will 
liasten  to  wipe  them  out. 

The  love  of  religion  which  sent  three  hundred  of 
Canada's  sons  to  fight  for  the  cause  of  the  Pope 
still  lives  in  the  hearts  of  our  Catholic  countrymen. 
Over  this  fair  Dominion  the  Pope  "  hath,  and  ought 
to  have,"  and  ever  will  have,  spiritual  jurisdiction 
— insulting  oaths  of  oflSce  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing. 

Eight  years  have  come  and  gone  since  Mrs.  Bar- 
ton recovered  her  long-lost  son.  The  evening  of 
her  days  is  drawing  to  a  peaceful  close,  and  soon 
she  will  rest  from  her  life's  labors.  Her  old  friend, 
Mrs.  Leahy,  has  long  since  been  dead. 

Eleanor  has  been  a  wife  for  more  than  seven 
years.  Have  they  been  years  of  unalloyed  happi- 
ness ?  Who  so  foolish  as  to  believe  us  if  we  said 
yes?  Surely  none;  unless,  indeed,  the  young  girl 
dreaming  her  first  dream  of  love. 

A  fair  share  of  felicitv  has  been  Eleanor's,  but 
she  has  known  care.  No  state  or  condition  of  life 
is  exempt  from  tribulation.     The  wild  romancing 

*  Scott  was  legitimately  conderaned  by  the  legitimate  au- 
thority of  Red  River,  viz.,  Riel's  provisional  government. 
The  miserable  pandering  of  politicians  to  the  wretched  Orange 
faction  of  Ontario  in  this  case  is  a  foul  blot  on  our  country, 
and  probably  the  cause  of  the  present  trouble  in  the  North- 
west. 


i« 


EIGHT  YEARS   LATER. 


431 


)  death  of 
8  called  a 

the  good 
tluey  will 

lundred  of 
the  Pope 

nntrymen. 
and  ought 

urisdietion 

y  notwitli- 

Mrs.  Bar- 
jvening  of 

and  soon 
old  friend, 

lan   seven 

'^ed  happi- 

f  we  said 

oung  girl 

luor's,  but 
)n  of  life 
omancing 

itimate  au- 
;overnment. 
hed  Orange 
ur  country, 
the  North- 


about  the  bliss  of  two  hearts  united  in  the  holy 
bonds  of  matrimony  is  only  heard  of  in  the  cheap 
novel.  No  one  can  ever  be  perfectly  happy  in  this 
world ;  but  the  one  who,  having  been  called  by  God 
to  a  life  of  celibacy,  is  a  virgin  in  body  and  mind, 
enjoys  the  nearest  approach  to  perfect  felicity. 
The  average  novelist  knows  nothing  of  this;  it 
is  beyond  his  or  her  comprehonsion.  Money  and 
marriage  are  their  sources  of  happiness. 

Yes,  Eleanor  has  had  a  large  share  of  domestic 
bliss.  Her  spliere  of  usefulness  was  larger  now 
tlian  formerly ;  her  virtues  had  increased,  she  was 
serenely  tranquil. 

The  report  of  a  gun  is  occasionally  heard  in  the 
groves  along  the  river.  Peppe  it  is  who  is  the 
sportsman.  He  is  still  as  gay  as  ever.  His  theory 
about  girls,  as  explained  to  Lorenzo,  is  verified  in  a 
wonderful  degree  in  his  own  case.  The  women 
dote  on  him,  but  he  is  indifferent  to  them  all.  Did 
we  say  all  ?  Ah !  one  little  exception  there  is ; 
but,  as  if  to  prove  the  correctness  of  his  views, 
she  appears  indifferent  to  him.  However,  one 
so  full  of  resources  as  Peppe  is  likely  to  succeed. 
He  is  following  the  example  of  his  uncle,  and 
in  a  few  months  there  may  be  a  quiet  wed- 
ding. 

Eight  years  have  passed,  and  Canada's  ablest  Gov- 
ernor-General has  come  and  gone.  The  ability, 
tact,  and  courtesy  of  Lord  Dufferin  have  endeared 
his  name  to  the  citizens  of  the  Dominion.  Apart 
from  the  mere  routine  of  his  office  he  exercised  a 
powerful  influence.    Our  national  character  had  no 


432 


AFTER  WEARY  YEARS. 


definite  bent  previous  to  his  arrival ;  he  gi'asped  it 
with  a  firm,  though  gentle  liand,  and  cast  it  in  a 
broad  and  generous  mould. 

It  is  the  December  of  1878.  A  fleecy  carpet  is 
spread  over  the  banks  of  the  St.  Lawrence,  and 
feathery  fringe  adorns  every  bough.  Morgan 
Leahy,  now  a  priest,  and  Lorenzo  are  walking  along 
tlie  river's  bank. 

"  So,  Morgan,  you  intend  returning  to  your  dear 
half-breeds  in  Winnipeg  ?"  said  Lorenzo. 

"  Yes,  I  will  go  to  them  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  You  were  in  Montreal  at  the  time  of  the  arrival 
of  the  Marrpiis  of  Lome.  What  did  you  think  of 
his  reception  ?" 

"  Oh,  as  usual  on  such  occasions,  the  sensible  por- 
tion of  the  community  was  respectful  and  quiet ;  the 
flunkies  and  nonentities  noisy  in  their  demonstrative 
loyalty.  It  snowed  poetry  and  rained  prose.  It 
was  pleasing,  however,  to  find  that  the  true  women 
of  Canada  knew  how  to  treat  the  ridiculous  notice 
about  court- dresses.  Who  could  have  been  the 
author  of  that  huge  absurdity  ?" 

"  Peppe  thinks,"  said  Lorenzo,  "  that  it  must  have 
been  suggested  by  one  related  to  the  Russian  Em- 
peror, it  so  closely  resembles  a  ukase." 

"Not  a  bad  suggestion,"  laughed  Morgan. 

"  I  used  to  think,"  said  Lorenzo,  "  that  it  was  a 
weakness  peculiar  to  the  Irish  to  go  crazy  over  a 
countryman,  but  here  are  the  Scotch  rushing  wildly 
along,  with  their  bagpipes  in  rest,  ready  to  overflow 
this  fair  country  with  a  flood  of  screeching  music. 
I  do  hope  that  our  next  Governor-General  may  be 


EIGHT   YEARS    LATER. 


433 


an  Afghan  or  Ghoorka.  We  would  then  be  freed 
from  this  national  nuisance." 

"Do  you  remember,  Lorenzo,  when  I  used  to 
speak  about  our  Dominion  in  Rome,  you  thought 
my  praises  extravagant.  What  is  your  opinion 
now?" 

"  You  were  right.  Our  Dominion  is  destined 
be  a  mighty  nation.  But  one  spot  above  all  others 
claims  my  love.  It  is  Prince  Edward  Island.  Its 
soil  is  so  fruitful,  its  climate  in  summer  so  healthy. 
The  quiet  beauty  of  its  small  bays  is  unsurpassed. 
Its  sons  are  talented  and  brave,  its  daughters  beauti- 
ful and  virtuous,  its  merchants  enterprising  and 
honorable.     It  is  the  gem  of  the  Dominion," 

"  That  is  praise  indeed." 

"  But  fully  merited." 

They  turned  away ;  and  turn  now  we  must  from 
these  historic  sketches.  We  echo  Lorenzo's  praise 
of  Prince  Edward  Island.  We  love  the  great  Do- 
minion as  a  whole,  but  we  fondly  cherish  the  dear 
little  island  of  the  gulf. 


THE    END. 


19 


